It Could Be Worse
by Sulia Serafine
Summary: Meet Keladry Mindelan, First Class Officer of the Dominion Jewel, in the city of Tortall in the country of Mithros... Complete
1. Best Of The Best

It Could Be Worse

Episode 1: Best of the Best

By Sulia Serafine

[1-14-01. A Protector of the Small fanfic set in an alternate universe; all credit goes to Tamora Pierce. I'm broke, so you can't sue me.

Oh, one more thing: BAD LANGUAGE (I. E. cursing, swearing…). You have been warned!

I'd also like to thank those who gave me help with the character descriptions. If anyone else want to help me, please e-mail me at silverwLng@aol.com, okay? I'm finally getting around to working on my tiny website, and there's a new section for my Tortall stories. I'll tell you the address when I deem it worthy to be seen by you. Enjoy the chapter, I know you've been waiting for it! Please, tell me what you think. I'd also like to once again thank those who made ALLO a success. This one's for you.]

Keladry Mindelan, a first class officer of the Dominion Jewel Protection Force (otherwise known as DJPF), briskly traveled down the headquarters' main walk heading for the mess hall. At first glance, a person would be sure not to mess with her unless they were looking for a black eye. On second glance, a person could almost see past her expressionless mask and detect a sense of warmth only shared with close friends. Her light brown hair had become filled with little bits of blonde and even red from working out on the field the last few months and her hazel eyes had obvious glints of intelligence if anything at all. Her uniform was as all uniforms were, except each officer had their choice of colors. Keladry preferred blue and gray, a basically calm color that didn't provoke stares, as did other female officers' uniforms that were bright pink or yellow.

After a short time, she made it to the mess hall. The doors slid open thanks to sensors in the floor and she entered casually, looking for the table with her friends. Two young men were seated at the far end, drinking blue liquids from flashy aluminum cans. She moved past other tables filled with other officers or DJPF employees and took her seat.

"Hey, Kel!" One of the men grinned. His curly brown hair was uncombed and messy while his gray eyes laughed at everyone who wanted to look. "I was just telling Neal about what I overheard from Commissioner Wyldon!"

"Oh? And just what is that?" she asked in a monotone voice. Her mask began to fall in the presence of the two enthusiastic young men. The taller one, with brown hair swept back from a widow's peak and dancing emerald green eyes, clapped her on the shoulder.

"You won't believe it!"

"I just might, Neal, if you two tell me what it is," she narrowed her eyes.

Owen snickered. "Well, in that case… I heard Commissioner Wyldon say he was sending two First Class B officers to quell the rebel forces in Carthak City. And, since, we are the only three B officers currently unassigned while visiting at headquarters…"

Neal stuck his tongue out at Owen. "You just barely became a first class officer. Why do you think _you_ would be one of them?"

"I'm not saying that I was, dummy!" the younger, shorter one replied. He sighed. "I also overheard that they were going to transfer me to A district. I won't be a B officer soon."

"What!" Neal exclaimed. "They can't divide the three of us up! Don't they know what they're missing out on here? True friendship, true--"

"Goofiness," Keladry smirked. "Maybe they want to keep _you_ from becoming too childish. Separate the children just like a mother would, and they'll concentrate on their work."

Neal folded his arms. "Well _I_ still think it's unfair." He turned to Owen. "I'm going to miss you, buddy. Who else will accompany me when I go to the lounge to pick up chicks?"

Kel thumped him on the back. He let out a startled cry. "Don't call women chicks, Nealan."

"Yes, mother," he groaned sarcastically. "_Besides_, no one compares to the rough n' tough Keladry Mindelan!" He took her hand in both of his and looked at her with the most fake look of adoration possible. "Oh, please, Miss Tough Stuff, will you be _my_ chick?!"

Owen burst out laughing. Keladry smiled and started to chuckle. Neal let go and scratched his head. "Now, see? This is just the kind of thing I was talking about! They can't separate friends like this."

"I have to agree with you there, Neal-buddy," Owen tried to stop laughing, only ended up grasping his sides. "Oh, boy. That was funny." He looked over his shoulder at the digital clock on the wall beside the holo-screen. "We should report in. Lunch break is almost over for us."

They stood up, put their cans in the recycling bin, and walked out. Neal and Owen continued to crack jokes with each other while Keladry half-listened, half-day dreamed of the mission that she was rumored to receive. 

All her life, she wanted to be a great officer, just like her role model, Alanna Olau Trebond. When Keladry was little, she would hear of all the heroic things the female DJPF first class AA officer had done. She was one of the first female officers to ever gain fame like that for her valiant life. But by the time Keladry got into the academy, Alanna had retired from the DJPF and took a job as an advisor to the president Jonathan Conté. If memory served her right, Alanna's husband George P. Swoop was also one of the president's advisors. Keladry wanted to be famous like that. Maybe one day she could meet the her idol.

"Kel? Earth to Kel, come _in_, Kel," Neal waved his hand in front of her face. She blinked.

"Oh, sorry. You were saying something?"

Owen pointed to her right wrist. "Your pager is blinking. You would have known about it if you didn't turn the sound off."

"Right. Thanks," she muttered and pressed a button on the right corner to receive her message. Yellow words appeared on the tiny screen of the wristband. It wasn't a page, but an incoming call from the Commissioner himself. Surprised, she answered the call. "Sir?"

The voice of the aged commissioner floated out to her and the other two officers looking at her wrist. "First Class B Officer Mindelan, report to my office tomorrow at 1500 hours." There was a pause. "I assume that Officers Jesslaw and Queenscove are with you?"

"Yes, sir," she confirmed.

"Tell them to report to my office as well. That is all." There was a soft beep as the call ended. Keladry switched her pager sound back on and lowered her wrist. 

"Well, I guess you know what this means," Owen sighed. "You two are going to get to go to Carthak while I'm switched to the A district." He kicked the floor. "This is so unfair."

"We do what we're told, Owen. That's why we're the DJPF," Keladry reminded. He nodded.

"Yeah. I guess so." He smiled. "Maybe I should go to the lounge and see if I can meet some A officers. Find a new set of boneheads like you, eh?" He elbowed Neal and Keladry.

"Boneheads!" Neal exclaimed. "Oh, now you're asking for it, Jesslaw! And by the way, you'll never be able to replace the two of us, right Kel?"

She nodded. The two guys could be hilarious at times, mostly melodramatic, and definitely goofy. She scratched her head and glanced at her wrist again. "I think I'm going to the training center and do some exercises to pass the time. You guys didn't have any plans, did you?"

The two of them exchanged looks. "Uh, not really. We'll probably take one last patrol shift in the city before dinner," Owen shrugged. He shoved his hands in his pocket. "It will be the last time we patrol in B district, so near headquarters. Then I'll be in A district, the farthest district _from_ headquarters in this gigantic metropolis!"

"Don't let it get to you. At least you're not going to miserable Carthak," Neal consoled. He folded his arms. "Carthak is a giant place, too, but not half as beautifully kept as Tortall."

"So? You two get an adventure," the younger man whined. His eyes became misty. "I can see it now. The rebels launching attacks at the governor's ancient mansion while the two of you rush in to save the day for our great country, Mithros. You'll get promoted to AA, while I'm in first class."

Keladry glared at him. "First class is good, Owen. We're the best of the best. Despite your attitude, you have to remember that you're young and have plenty of time to rise up through the ranks once again."

Neal clapped while pretending to wipe a tear from his eye. "Oh, please, give us another speech, Miss Mindelan! Can I also hear about the record you hold for least time at the academy and DJPF apprenticeship? Oh, _please_?"

"Shut up," she said. "So what if I did? I was determined to get here."

"And you have been for the last two years, "Owen rolled his eyes. He nodded. "Yeah, I guess the three of us are lucky. Usually people don't enter the first class-- if they enter at all-- until they're at least in their very late twenties, early thirties."

"Yeah! The rest of our graduating class from the academy are third class officers," Neal chimed in. He grinned. "We're lucky, all right." He started to chuckle to himself.

She shook her head. "Luck had nothing to do with it. Ambition did."

"Whatever you say, Miss Tough Stuff."

"Stop that. I hate that nickname."

"We know," the two men said simultaneously. Neal continued. "Well, if we're going to patrol, we should go now. See you later, Kel!"

"Bye, Kel!" Owen waved. 

Keladry waved back and went to the nearest elevator. It was near the center of the floor, where one could look over the side of a walkway and see the other floors beneath it. Other walkways criss-crossed in the open center of the building. She waited for the elevator door to slide open and walked into the clear, tube shaped shaft. There were no walls, only a stainless steel floor and a holo-screen fixed on the top of a stand in the back. She pressed the coordinates for the training center and stepped back.

The elevator began to move down to the second floor of the vast DJPF Headquarters. Keladry watched each floor pass her, observing all the different people walking around. She even spied a couple of elevators and people inside them from her own. Finally, she reached the second floor. Instead of the usually clear door sliding open to admit her exit of the tube shaft, another door, previously unseen slid open on the side. The floor beneath her moved out of the shaft and she stepped onto the moving walkway waiting for her. The moving walkways were separate from the independent walkways she was on earlier. That was the trick to putting in coordinates on the elevator. 

Keladry looked over her shoulder and watched the elevator floor slide back into the shaft and go back up for another person. She leaned on the metal rail that moved with the walkway and decided to relax until she reached her destination.

When she finally arrived, she stepped off the moving walkway. The large neon light sign said 'Training Center' and was above the entrance. The clear doors once again slid open as she and two other second class officers entered. There was a second set of doors, this time, black instead of clear. Keladry moved off the side and held up her wrist pager screen to meet the screen on the wall. The screen flashed MINDELAN- 1B and then the words ENTRANCE GRANTED. She lowered her wrist and proceeded past the black doors. The other two officers repeated what she did, and were also granted access.

Inside the training center, various exercise machines were set up along the walls and the middle of the floor. A guy named Warric and a girl named Uline from her academy's graduating class waved to her as they stood beside Nariko, the instructor in charge of the training center. She waved back and proceeded to the far end where the sparring rings and punching bags were. There, an aged-- but not old-- woman and a man in his early thirties were sparring and demonstrating to an apprentice. Keladry sat on a stainless steel stool outside of the ring and watched in amusement as Eda Bell flipped Hakuin Seastone over her shoulder and onto the mat. 

"Is the Wildcat giving you another sore day?" she asked Hakuin with a smirk on her face. Hakuin tilted his head back from where he lay on his back to see her. 

"Ah, Mindelan. It's good to see you. And yes, she's giving me another sore day. All in the name of teaching, so she says." They laughed. "Anyway, what about you? Back to brush up on your skills?"

"I guess," she replied.

Eda Bell helped Hakuin up and turned to Keladry. "Hello, Mindelan. Maybe you'd like to help us train Hakuin's apprentice, huh?"

"Apprentice?" she snickered. She went between the ropes enclosing the ring and held a hand out to the young woman who was the apprentice. The girl looked like Keladry's sister Oranie, but only about 19 years old. Keladry was an apprentice at 17 and an officer at 18, a record that no one had ever broken. Neal and Owen had been at the academy with her, but she arrived three years after them and managed to catch up and graduate with them. Keladry shook hands with the girl. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" the girl asked, clearly confused at the sentence.

Keladry leaned toward her and whispered. "For being apprentice to Seastone, that's what."

The girl giggled. Hakuin huffed. "Very funny, Mindelan. Get over here. I'll wipe that smirk off your face."

"I don't have my practice clothes on yet."

"Then go put them on. I'll wait here." She obliged while Eda Bell stood back and laughed.

That night, Keladry went back to her dorm room on the higher levels completely exhausted. Hakuin had defeated her, true, but he was older and more experienced. She, of course, didn't make it easy for him. Hakuin would be hurting come morning. She changed out of her clothes and took a quick shower. Then she sat down to watch the news on her holo screen.

Her phone rang. She reached over her tiny table and picked up the communication screen off the top of her refrigerator. She tapped the yellow button in the corner and Neal's face appeared.

"Hey, Miss Tough Stuff. How's it hangin'?"

"I really ought to get you off that slang. First class officers don't do that," she chided. 

"Well, excuse me! Did you eat dinner yet?"

"I was just about to. Why?"

He shrugged. "Owen and I were wondering if you wanted to come down to the lounge and grab a bite with us."

"Sorry. Completely exhausted," she said and scratched her neck. "You two go ahead. I'll see you tomorrow at the Commissioner's Office. Okay?"

"Yes, ma'am!" Neal saluted with a grin on his face.

"And don't bother the poor girls at the lounge who happen to catch your fancy!" she warned.

"Aww!"

"I mean it, officer."

"Yes, ma'am," he sighed. Then he sneezed. It was then that Keladry realized how pale Neal looked.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm… I'm f-- ACHOO!" he sneezed again, this time, almost causing him to drop his communication screen. "Aww, man. I can't get sick now!"

She shook her head. "Go down to the infirmary and talk to your father. He can give you some cold medicine right away without waiting in line, right?"

"Yeah," Neal muttered. "I guess so. No beautiful girls to bother-- I mean, flirt with tonight. Bye, Kel."

"Bye," she replied and pressed the off button. 

~~

The next day at 1500 hours, Keladry reported to Commissioner Wyldon's office. It was located on the fifth floor, where most of the important offices were located. She flashed her ID from her pager screen again and entered the closed off section. Secretaries and other officers passed her in the narrow hall as she headed to the far end where Commissioner Wyldon was. She pressed the button on the intercom.

"Come in," a voice from the intercom said. The door slid open and she entered.

"Have a seat," Commissioner Wyldon said. He gestured to the office chair in front of his smooth brown desk. Keladry sat down, feeling comfortable when most people her age would feel intimidated by the man of power in front of her. Lord Wyldon had been very kind to her when others made fun of her age. Just because she was the youngest 1B officer in history, Wyldon said, it was no reason that she couldn't do just as well. 

"You wanted to see me, sir?"

"Yes. But I'll wait until Officers Jesslaw and Queenscove get here," he said and sat back. "How have things been, Mindelan?"

"Very well, sir."

"Good. That's very good."

A buzz came from the intercom on his desk. He pressed the button again and said, "Come in."

The door opened. Owen came in and had a seat where the commissioner gestured for him to sit. Keladry turned to Owen. "Where is Neal?"

"I don't know," Owen replied. "I thought he would be here since there was no answer when I went to his dorm room today."

The commissioner stroked his chin. "I see."

The intercom buzzed. It was his secretary. "Sir, there's an incoming call from Officer Queenscove."

"I'll take it," he answered and activated his communications screen. Owen and Kel could see Neal, looking worse than he did last night. His hair was mussed and he was sickly pale. The commissioner frowned.

"Queenscove! Where are you?"

"The…The… ACHOO!" Neal sneezed. "Sorry, Sir. I'm at the infirmary."

"You're ill? How ill, officer?" There was a look of concern on the man's face.

"Um… I don't know." A voice in the background called Neal's attention. "Sir, my father would like to talk to you."

"Very well. Dr. Baird?"

Dr. Baird, Neal's father, resembled his son very much and had a dignified air about him. Keladry and Owen used to visit him with his son on their lunch break. The doctor sighed while glancing over at Neal. "I'm sorry, Commissioner, but my son has come down with the Copper Flu. He won't recover for another four months."

"Four months!" Owen and Keladry exclaimed. Commissioner Wyldon ignored them.

"Well, then, I guess I'll have to take him off the mission."

"No!" Neal cried out in the background. The screen switched over to him. "I'm missing out on a mission? I haven't been on one in so long, sir!"

"I know that, Queenscove, but if you're sick, you're sick." He shook his head and turned to the two officers sitting before him. "Jesslaw?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Just because Queenscove is sick does not mean you will replace him on this mission. You will still be transferred to A district."

Owen was crestfallen. "Yes, sir. As you wish, sir."

"As for you, Mindelan," he started. "I was going to have you and Queenscove travel to Carthak and help with the rebel forces that threaten the government."

"Is the mission canceled?" she asked in a quiet, but calm voice.

He gazed at her, seeming to examine her. "No. No, I don't think so." He started to stroke his chin again. "You are an exceptional officer, Mindelan. That has been proven. Perhaps one of my best 1B officers here. No, you're still going to Carthak, but the mission is changed."

"Changed, sir?" She didn't like the gleam in the commissioner's eye. 

"Yes, yes. I'm going to send for one of my special operatives in Tusaine. He's been idle for a bit, and I need him to do _something_." He paused. "So, the two of you will become partners and capture OzorneTasikhe, the rebel leader."

Keladry was at a loss of words. Owen just gaped. But Neal's mouth was quite functional.

"Wow! Kel, that is so cool! That's a big mission! And you're working with a guy from Tusaine? Even cooler! I wish I could go!"

"Quiet, Queenscove!"

"Err, sorry sir."

"Sir?" Keladry found her voice.

"There's nothing to discuss, Mindelan. Your new partner will arrive from Tusaine in four days and you will be briefed then. Jesslaw, report to the Assigning Office and get your files in order. That is all." And with that, the commissioner stood up from his desk and exited the office, leaving the three 1B officers in bewilderment.

"Sir!" Keladry called back and jumped to her feet She stopped the door from closing.

"Yes, officer?" he turned around.

"What's the name of my new partner?"

"Joren Stone. Now, dismissed, officer."

Keladry went back into the office and sat down, completely perplexed. Neal sneezed again, all the while staring at Keladry from the communications screen. She glanced back and forth from each friend. "What? Is something wrong?"

Owen winced. "Uh… well, Joren Stone? Is that what the commissioner said?"

Neal shook his head. "Joren Stone…"

"What? Who is it? What aren't you two telling me?" she demanded.

Neal scratched the back of his head. "Well, Joren Stone was at the academy with us before you came along, right Owen?"

"Right," Owen nodded.

"Yeah. He graduated early, just before you came, but he wasn't sent to Headquarters for apprenticing. They put him in the field, and I guess he eventually became a special operative."

Keladry narrowed her eyes. "There's something else. Now spill it."

"Hey, I thought you didn't like slang--"

"Neal!"

"Okay, okay!" Neal held up his hands in defense. "So, uh, Joren should be something like 23 or 24 right now, compared to your 20. Uh… you both set some mean records on age, heheh. I mean, look at Owen and me! I'm 25 and--"

"I'm 21, just newly a 1B," Owen nodded. "Let me continue, Neal. So, Joren is a bit…"

"Stoic," Neal supplied.

"And overly professional."

"Stubborn."

"Non-social."

"Inconsiderate."

"Has a big problem with authority."

"Somewhat ruthless…"

"And well…"

"He's a jerk," they said in unison. 

Keladry groaned. "Oh, you're kidding me. I'm going to be stuck for the next couple of weeks with a guy like that as my partner?"

"Yes," they said again simultaneously."

"Great," she muttered. "Just great…"

~~

Author: And so we begin our new series, It Could Be Worse. I hope you enjoy it as much as ALLO. Please, I'd like to hear all comments and criticisms.

Closing Credits:

Special thanks to those who helped me with descriptions:

( Note: these people are VERY cool. Do not mess with them.)

Kestrel

Erin (Hyper Girl to the Rescue)

Sullychkk4

And if anyone is good with fixing web pages, please e-mail me. My e-mail is listed at top.


	2. The Guy With The Bike

It Could Be Worse

Episode 2: The Guy With The Bike

By Sulia Serafine

[1-14-01. A Protector of the Small fanfic set in an alternate universe; all credit goes to Tamora Pierce. I'm broke, so you can't sue me.

Oh, one more thing: BAD LANGUAGE (I. E. cursing, swearing…). You have been warned!

I'd also like to thank those who gave me help with the character descriptions. If anyone else want to help me, please e-mail me at [silverwLng@aol.com][1], okay? I'm finally getting around to working on my tiny website, and there's a new section for my Tortall stories. I'll tell you the address when I deem it worthy to be seen by you. Enjoy the chapter, I know you've been waiting for it! Please, tell me what you think. I'd also like to once again thank those who made ALLO a success. This one's for you.]

Four Days Later:

Keladry and Owen sat across from Neal from where he lay in the infirmary. He was wearing a white hospital gown with a yellow robe. His skin remained pale and his nose stuffed. The two healthy officers nervously sat twiddling their thumbs or tapping their heels. They were still in casual uniform; Kel's being blue and Owen's being brown. They weren't sure of what to do. Neal was confined to the infirmary for the next four months. And they were going on to do great things _outside_ the infirmary. 

"Stop it with those expressions. I'm not going to die or anything," Neal said.

"We know," Owen replied. "It's just… You look like crap."

Kel elbowed him in the ribs. "Don't say crap. We're 1B's, remember?"

Neal laughed out loud, though at the end he started coughing. They looked on, concerned. "Hey! Here I am, stuck with the Copper Flu, and Miss Tough Stuff is crusading to make us two guys into gentlemen! Ha!"

"Well, someone has to. I can't have the girls you talk with be offended by your poor language."

Owen nodded with a grin. "Yeah! They have to be offended by your personality instead!" He burst into laughter. "OW! Keladry, stop doing that!"

She rolled her eyes and withdrew her elbow again. All of a sudden, she was reminded of her duties. She lifted up her wristband to check the time on her pager. She mentally slapped her forehead for her carelessness. Neal frowned.

"Is something wrong?"

She stood up and straightened her shirt. Then Keladry glanced back and forth from her two best friends. "Yeah. I have to get out of casual uniform and into field uniform, then report to Wyldon. It's been four days, remember?"

"You're going to drop by at the Main Entrance to say goodbye, aren't you?" Owen pouted. "You know I'm leaving today, Kel."

"I know." She sighed. "I'll be there. Don't worry." She forced something that she hoped was a smile. " See you later."

~~

Keladry ambled down the hall of Dorm 6 for B officers of all ranks. She lazily read each room number as she passed although she had no need to. Dorm 6 had been her home for two years ever since she moved out of the apprentices' section at Dorm 1. "Room 110… 111… 112…. Ah. Here I am. Room 113." 

She held up her wrist to be scanned again and entered. "Lights," she called. The florescent lighting above illuminated the room immediately. She unzipped her blue vest and folded it neatly. Then she placed it with the rest of her belongings in the stacks to be packed. 

"I hope this mission goes well. I need to do a lot of things to impress the DJPF Council to get myself promoted," she thought and turned on the holo-screen. Within the last hour, there had been a crash involving three civilian cars and one civilian hover-car. Apparently, the driver of the hover car mistakenly programmed his vehicle and it crossed the divider and collided with the ground vehicles.

"Irresponsible," she muttered while pulling on her boots and strapping on the shin guard. There was a lot to her field uniform. Besides the boots and shin guards, there were these small kneepads made out of some new-age material that kept it thin and comfortable. Around the tops of her arms and her thighs was Hyperion bands. They were also designed like the kneepads to be thin, but protective, and very flexible. It took a long time to put them on, having to link every single one correctly. 

"By Glory," Keladry swore under her breath-- it being a native exclamation where she came from up north. "Where are my belts and gloves?" She got down on her knees and checked under her bed. Seeing nothing, she stuck her arm under and groped for anything that might be underneath. She came up with nothing and stood back up.

"I must have packed them," she thought and sorted through the stacks again. She found the three belts. One for her ID disks and other compartments; the other two were to hang diagonally and holster each one of her registered weapons. Keladry could care less about her gun. She was especially proud of the energy glaive her brother gave her after she graduated. Energy glaive was a fancy term for extendible pole with a mean looking flare on the end. Finally, Keladry found her gloves and put on her shoulder pads. She went to the mirror in her bathroom and examined herself. She was mostly wearing gray except for the baby blue stripe that ran down her front and back and also colored her shin guards.

"Time to go," she thought and was about to head out the door when her communications screen beeped. "Who could that be?" she wondered and went back to wear it was on her table. "Mindelan speaking."

"Mindelan! I'm glad I caught you." It was the commissioner. What did he want with her? She was about to go and see him, wasn't she? He continued. "I have something else for you to do before you come for briefing."

"Yes, sir?" she asked. 

"Stone's late. I have also realized that he's never been to headquarters before."

"S-sir?" she stammered. It was highly out of the ordinary for any person associated to the DJPF to not have visited headquarters before. How was it possible that this Stone person had never been there?

The Commissioner answered her unspoken question. He seemed amused. "He's never had a chance ever since we assigned him to Tusaine. Go down to the back of the building. You know-- the loading docks? Most officers arrive through there." He paused. "Any questions, Mindelan?"

"No, sir." She switched hands holding the screen and saluted.

"Dismissed."

The screen turned off. Keladry put it down on the table again. She froze. "I'm an idiot! I completely forgot to ask what he looks like!" She groaned and picked up the screen again. She couldn't call the commissioner. That would look bad. Then a thought came to her. If Neal went to the academy with him, he ought to know what he looked like. She quickly dialed the number for the infirmary.

"Yes?" Neal coughed. "Oh, Kel! What's up?"

"What does Joren Stone look like?"

"Uh, excuse me?"

"You heard me. What does he look like? I'm going to meet him at the loading dock right now."

Neal tried to stifle a laugh. She glared at him, and he stopped. "Well, hey. Why don't you switch to your wristband and I can tell you while you're going down." He lifted one eyebrow. "You don't want to be late, do you, Tough Stuff?"

He had a point. So, she turned on her wristband communicator, switching off from the pager. Then she turned off her communications screen. "Okay. You can talk now."

She walked out of her room, hearing the doors slide closed behind her. Then she jogged over the elevator at the end of the hall and waited for it to come. She lifted her wrist and impatiently said, "Start talking."

Neal laughed. "Okay, okay. So, as far as I remember, he's a complete asshole--"

"NEAL!"

"Sorry! I won't swear! I promise! But," he laughed. "Swearing is part of my memories for the guy."

She boarded the elevator and put in the coordinates for the loading dock. There was a humming sound as she began to descend. It was very dim in the dorm elevator, and the only lights were the ones on the holo-screen behind her and each dorm floor as she passed it. When she first came to the dorms, it had irritated her. The darkness was always scary at first, no matter who you were.

She didn't talk to Neal until she arrived at the loading dock. People were busy moving crates around and also checking in other precious cargo, such as the new training weapons for the apprentices, or shipment of uniforms. Keladry carefully made her way around without getting run over by a forklift.

"So? Physically, describe."

Neal sighed. "Okay. He's blonde, uh blue eyes."

She frowned. "Don't tell me the Prince Charming Looks…"

"Unfortunately. Don't let it fool you."

Keladry hated the handsome guys who were too good to be true. Something about deception and how most guys like that she met were plain aggravating. It held true to fact in this case. She snorted. "It won't." 

"Um… I'd say he's about your height. You're pretty tall, you know?"

"I know. So, keep talking."

He paused. "He rides a bike. A really, really, _really_, nice bike."

She pursed her lips to keep from laughing. "A really, really, _really_, nice bike?"

"Yes! Don't make fun of it. If there's one blasted thing I remember about Joren Stone, was that he had a thing for bikes of all types-- motorcycles, hoverbikes… Kind of liked motor cross. I'm not sure. But what did his bike look like? I don't remember what his looked like. He might have gotten a new one by now. But I swear, I remember calling it Beautiful with a capital B."

Keladry shook her head while going outside into the fresh air. "You call a machine beautiful?"

"Yes, yes I do. His machine was like that. No matter how much everyone disliked the guy, everyone also had to love his bike."

She leaned on a stack of crates beside a hover- truck. Most vehicles that spent a lot of fuel traveling on ground were now forced to become hover vehicles, electrically powered, to keep the air from being polluted. Other cars both--air and ground-- arrived, driving past. A few third class female officers gathered on their breaks to watch the dockhands load and unload the cargo from the trucks. They giggled and pointed every now and then at one muscle-bound man. 

"Ugh. I hate it when girls like them do that," she thought and shook her head. It was to degrading of her gender to spend their free time ogling over guys. She would rather spend it sparring with the Eda Bell and Hakuin Seastone. It also didn't help that she never fit in with the normal crowd of girls while growing up. "Which leads to the fact that my two best friends are guys…" She rolled her eyes. "Guys who call me Miss Tough Stuff."

All of a sudden, everyone turned to the gates around the loading docks, past the incoming vehicles to a cloud of dust on the highway traveling at incredible speed. The group of giggling girls hushed themselves and hurried forward to see who it was. Keladry, very interested, lifted up her wrist again.

"Hey, Neal. I'll see you later."

"Okay. Bye."

She squinted her eyes to see the approaching dust cloud. It was a biker. He was off by a hundred yards now, standing out against the pale gray surroundings with his pitch-black motorcycle. Its sleek shape glinted in the sunlight. Keladry couldn't help it. She mouthed the word 'wow' and continued to look on as it approached.

As the biker neared, he slowed down, but his decreased speed did not hinder his splendid entrance. The loud sounds from his bike caused some of the more sensitive-hearing men to cover their ears and walk away. But the troupe of giggling women came even closer as he came to a stop at a parking spot for bikes. He turned the off the engine, leaned on one side, then swung his leg over. Leaving it supported on a stand, he began to walk toward the dock's information desk. 

He wore a black field uniform with a blood red stripe down the front. He was definitely lean and walked so fluidly that Keladry wondered if anyone else could walk more so. On the outer parts of each thigh were two black disks. Those were sensors that most bikers wore for police to track them in case they had a speeding violation. 

As he walked oh-so-smoothly to the desk, he reached up with his gloved hands and took off his helmet. A mass of straight blond hair fell messily around his ears, but the mussed look worked well for him. His cold blue eyes were set under serious eyebrows and his skin was flawlessly pale. He tucked his helmet under his arm.

"Don't… don't tell me he's…" Keladry began. 

"Hey, handsome! Over here!" one of the bolder women walked up to him and stood in his path. The woman tossed her curly brown hair over her shoulder and licked her cherry lips. She shifted hips and winked at him. "What's your name, hot stuff?"

He stared at her for about ten seconds, then began to look her up and down. Sizing her up. "Who the hell are you?"

She became slightly peeved. "I'm Lania Oakbridge, daughter to Councilman Upton Oakbridge? I'm a third class officer here."

He nodded slowly. "Right…" Then he stopped and brushed passed her. "Don't waste my time."

Another girl tried her luck as she met him at the information desk. He let out a frustrated sigh and waited for her to speak. This one had black hair tied back in a ponytail. She seemed a little better than the first. "Hi there! You're new here, aren't you? Can I show you around?"

Once again, he gave her a once over and spoke after five seconds. "Are you Keladry Mindelan?"

"Hell no!" she laughed bubbly. 

"Then, goodbye," he turned on his heel and walked away. The girl was furious and screamed at him. He paid no mind and continued to move away until he came near Keladry. She rolled her eyes and supposed that she might as well talk to him. 

"Hey!" she called over to him. When he didn't approach her, she pushed off the crates she was leaning on and came to him. Before Keladry could talk, he spoke with evident irritation.

"If you're going to hit on me, save yourself the trouble and walk away. I don't care for flirtatious girls, who don't know a damned thing about hard work," he spat. His voice was sharper than the finest chef's knife. Keladry folded her arms.

"No," Keladry replied, although annoyed by the hostility of his response. "I'm Keladry Mindelan. And you're obviously--"

"Joren Stone," he finished for her with a slight nod. "Thank Heaven, you actually look like you know what you're doing."

She narrowed her eyes and clenched her teeth. "Yeah." She held out her hand, forcing herself to be polite. Neal and Owen were right. She just met him, and she could tell he was a jerk. "It's nice to meet you, partner."

He glanced at her hand but made no attempt to hold out his. "Where's the commissioner's office?"

She dropped her hand and nodded her head. "That way. I'll show you."

They walked in silence to the commissioner's office. His strides, although fluid, were fast, and Keladry had to exert some effort on her part to keep up as well as trying _not_ to look like she had to keep up. When they finally reached the Main Office, Keladry's cheeks were flushed. And not wanting him to see, she fell back so he entered the office first.

"It's the one at the end," she pointed out. He nodded and continued forward.

The office doors were already open as a secretary scurried out. The commissioner was standing with his back toward them as he looked out his window and over the city. He heard them come in. "Please, officers. Have a seat."

They reluctantly sat down. Joren rested his helmet on his knee and never glanced at Keladry once. Feeling insecure, as could possibly be Keladry sat up straighter in her chair. Wyldon turned around. "It's nice to see you again, Officer Stone."

"Sir," the special operative answered with a curt nod.

"I hope you find Headquarters to be all that it's been rumored to be in Tusaine."

Joren shrugged. "I suppose."

"And you've met your new partner, Keladry Mindelan?"

"At the loading dock, yes." He glanced at her briefly, then returned his gaze to Wyldon. "Can you please get to the point?"

Keladry bristled at his lack of respect for the commissioner. Even stuffy old Wyldon deserved more respect than that. 

"Yes. The mission," Wyldon cleared his throat. "As soon as tomorrow, the two of you are to depart for Carthak City. While remaining discreet, locate and capture Ozorne Tasikhe and use the local DJPF to handle his rebels. You are a fine officer, Stone, and I expect results. This won't be much of a challenge for an operative like you. Although I'd prefer your mood to be toned down, yes?"

The blonde snorted.

"And as for you, Mindelan. This is your chance to prove yourself. Regardless of how this mission turns out, you will remain partners with Stone here until I say so. Enjoy your trip abroad, Mindelan. Dismissed."

Keladry immediately stood up and saluted while Joren took his time getting up and giving a weak salute. Wyldon glared at him, but the young man ignored it and walked out. Keladry gritted her teeth and followed him.

"You know, you could at least _try_," she mumbled.

"Try what? I _heard_ you, you know."

Her head snapped up when she realized he was talking. "Well, you can try to act like you care for starters."

Joren froze. He turned to her and smiled. She suspiciously stared at him. "Listen here, _partner_."

"What?" She folded her arms, trying to act like she wasn't intimidated.

"There are only three things on this earth that I care about."

"Oh?"

"The bike," he counted on one gloved finger. "Me…" He paused as he counted on a second finger. "And _the bike._"

She glared at him. "I see."

"Look, we'll work through this. I stay out of your way, and you stay out of mine. Okay?"

"Fine with me." "_Jerk_," she added silently.

He looked around. "I'm going to get a temporary room for the night. What's your room number?"

"Huh?"

He sighed. "To find you in the morning. You know?"

"Oh," she coughed quietly. "It's in Dorm 6, Room 113."

He nodded and walked over to the Assignments Office. He knocked on the counter. "Hey."

"Yes, how can I help you?" A secretary cheerfully asked.

"I need a room for the night near Dorm 6 and a temporary set of clothes."

"All right then," the secretary chirped. She searched her database. "There's a vacant room in Dorm 6. You can have that one." She gestured for him to show her his wrist. She scanned the pager screen ID. "It's Room 92. And you can pick up your clothes at the Dorm Administration."

He nodded and walked back to Keladry. "You heard her. Come on, let's go. We have to leave early."

Keladry looked at her pager, realizing it was almost time for Owen to leave. "I can't right now. I have to meet someone."

"Fine. Try to get a lot of sleep."

She paused. He was being nice? "Uh, tha--"

"I don't want a partner who falls asleep on the job."

She glared at him as he walked away. Keladry hit the recall button on her wristband. Neal answered.

"Hey, so how did it go? Asshole?"

"Asshole," she confirmed, not even caring if she swore for once. "You were right."

"I'm sorry, Kel. But hey! I got an idea. Since I'm stuck here doing nothing for the next few months, I'll just talk to you via pager whenever you want!"

She smiled. "Thanks. I'm going to say goodbye to Owen. Did you?"

"Yeah. Bonehead dropped by."

"Okay. Talk to you later."

She went to the Main Entrance and searched for Owen. She finally found him sitting on a bench, checking his own wrist for the time. When he saw her, he jumped up and whooped. "I knew you wouldn't let me leave without saying goodbye!"

"Of course." She hooked her thumbs into her belt. "Just don't forget to call once a week."

He saluted. "Yes, ma'am!" His expression saddened. "I just wish I could go on an adventure like you are."

"Adventure? Um, in case you're forgetting-- Joren Stone?" she reminded.

"Oh, you're right. A grim adventure," he amended. His eyes suddenly lit up. "But don't you think his ride is cool?"

She grimaced. "Well, yeah. I guess."

"Oh, come on. I know you're not into that sort of thing, but don't tell me that you felt nothing."

Keladry chuckled and kicked the ground. "Okay, okay. I admit…"

"Yes?"

"Wow," she replied.

"I thought so." He gave her a quick hug. She ruffled his mass of brown curls. "Take care, Miss Tough Stuff."

"You, too, Bonehead. And stay out of trouble!" she called as he walked to his bus.

"I'm not making any promises!" He called back. And then he was gone. 

Keladry returned to her room and made sure all her things were packed. She'd allowed Dorm Administration to rent out her room, just while she was gone. It still belonged to her. She looked back at all her stacks of things. Most of it was packed up to go into storage. On a mission as important as this, she didn't want to bring much at all. Joren managed to bring nothing that he couldn't fit onto the back of his bike. The thought of his efficiency annoyed her. 

"Fine. One bag-- that's it," she told herself and began to assort her things.

~~

For the first time in years, Keladry slept in. She had spent a good part of the night talking to Neal while figuring out how to pack. She was going to show Joren that she could be just as good as him and pack lightly. But of course, this made her late.

"Hey! Mindelan!" Joren called from the intercom on her door. "Do you know what time it is?"

The door opened. Joren, in his field uniform, strode over to Keladry's bed and yanked the covers off. Keladry curled up instinctively to the sudden wave of cold air blowing over her body. She was clad in a tank top and some drawstring pants. It hardly constituted for a DJPF uniform. The operative stood over her, tapping his foot impatiently.

"Well?"

She opened her eyes and looked at the clock. "Oh, By Glory, I can't believe it!"

"You better believe it," he sneered. "Hurry up and get dressed. I'll wait outside."

As he left, she called back to him. "Hey!"

He blinked. "What do you want?"

"How did you get into my room? Only administration can."

He shrugged. 

"I pick locks." And left. The door closed behind him. Keladry frowned. He could break into ID personal rooms, too? Now she really had to prove herself. Keladry stumbled into the bathroom after much incoherent mumbles to herself. A few moments later, she was prepped and ready to go. She slung her duffel bag over her shoulder and walked out.

Joren was leaning against the opposite wall, looking at the mini screen on his wrist. "It's about time. Let's go. We'll be taking the 556 shuttle bus to Corinth, and then ride bikes the rest of the way."

She yawned and started toward the elevator with him. "Wouldn't it be more convenient to take a car all the way there?"

"Are you kidding? This mission is supposed to be discreet. How discreet is a DJPF squad car in the middle of the Carthakian Slums?" he snorted. "And besides. I don't leave my bike behind."

"Then why don't you just marry the blasted thing," she muttered. Keladry inwardly groaned. It could be worse.

~~

Closing Credits:

Special thanks to those who helped me with descriptions:

( Note: these people are VERY cool. Do not mess with them.)

Kestrel

Erin (Hyper Girl to the Rescue)

Sullychkk (Ack! All I remembered was your e-mail! I'M SO SORRY! E-MAIL ME, OKAY?)

And also to the people who volunteered to help with my web page:

FireLily

Jaelawyn Noble (please e-mail me)

And if anyone is good with fixing web pages, please e-mail me. My e-mail is listed at top.

   [1]: mailto:silverwLng@aol.com



	3. The First Mission

It Could Be Worse

Episode 3: The First Mission

By Sulia Serafine

[1-15-01. A Protector of the Small fanfic set in an alternate universe; all credit goes to Tamora Pierce. I'm broke, so you can't sue me.

Oh, one more thing: BAD LANGUAGE (I. E. cursing, swearing…). You have been warned!

I'd also like to thank those who gave me help with the character descriptions. If anyone else want to help me, please e-mail me at [silverwLng@aol.com][1], okay? I'm finally getting around to working on my tiny website, and there's a new section for my Tortall stories. I'll tell you the address when I deem it worthy to be seen by you. Enjoy the chapter, I know you've been waiting for it! Please, tell me what you think. I'd also like to once again thank those who made ALLO a success. This one's for you.

P.S. Something I forgot! This Story takes place in 949 H.E, but it is an ALTERNATE UNIVERSE!]

Keladry approached the 556 -shuttle bus to Corinth. It was almost like the greyhound buses from a century ago, except that it was designed with hovering capabilities and more storage space without compromising seating room above. She waited until she got past the crowd of tourists and other travelers to throw her duffel bag in among the rest. She spied an area to the back of the compartments. Two family sized compartments had been sectioned off for something else.

"His bike," she realized and shook her head. "Of course. How could I forget." Keladry sighed and got back in line to get on the bus and have her ticket taken. It wasn't paper, but a piece of plastic that was reused over and over again like subway tokens was used. The line moved swiftly and Keladry stepped up to put her token in the slot. The screen flashed green and she continued past. 

Waiting for people to get their belongings up in the overhead compartments, she scanned the bus for her partner. Keladry wished she could find her own seat far away from him, but it wasn't for her to decide. Finally, the isle was clear and she proceeded to the back of the bus where Joren sat in the last seat. He glanced at her before returning his gaze to the window. His knee was propped up against the back of the seats in front of him and his elbow rested on his knee. Keladry hesitantly sat down beside him.

"I hate isle seats," she thought. But then, she became optimistic. "There's not much scenery to look at from here to Corinth anyway. I don't talk as much as others, so there's no reason to be upset over lack of conversation." She paused. "But I _should_ worry about the bike I'll have to ride when we get there. I've only ridden one of those things at the academy! And I wasn't even the one driving. I just sat behind him. I'll look so foolish and amateur." She blinked. "Wait, I _am_ an amateur. Oh well." Insecurity settled in her mind for a permanent stay.

When they got to Corinth two and a half days later, Joren retrieved his bike from storage and made sure his bag was strapped on tightly to the back. Then he motioned for Keladry to follow him when they went to the vehicle sales company across the street. A short balding man greeted them. 

"Hello, welcome to Dunlath Vehicles, the best in Mithros. How may I help you?"

Joren leaned on the counter that separated them. "Yes, I need a bike for her." He turned to her and started giving her the once over. "Probably one of the newer Softail Springers-- something better than 1450cc. Okay?"

The man frowned and looked at Keladry. "Maybe the young lady would prefer something more suited to beginners. There are some nice new scooters in the back that the third class female officers around here are fond of renting."

Joren glared at the man. He leaned forward and said in a low voice, "She'll take what I suggested, pal."

Keladry's eyes widened. The other man was offering her something for beginners-- which she obviously was one-- while Joren insisted that she ride something advanced. He was either out of his mind or complimenting her by trusting her with something as high-leveled as that. The man checked his database and told Joren what number it was in the garage. He reached for Keladry's wrist. She obediently let him scan her pager ID. 

"And who will be paying for this?" the man inquired. Joren glanced at her.

"My salary may be great, but it goes to my little siblings back home," Keladry replied. 

Joren shrugged. "Whatever. I'll pay for it." He held out his wrist to be scanned and also repeated his account number from memory for the database. There was an approving-credit beep. Joren lowered his wrist. "So, where is it?"

"Number 79 in the back," the man jerked a thumb over his shoulder. Joren headed to the back of the garage with Keladry at his heels. Now she was even more uncomfortable than before. He _bought_ her a bike. She owed him a lot of money. But how much did she owe? Keladry coughed quietly into her fist. He caught a glimpse of her in the corner of his eye as he walked.

"Yes?" 

"How much did that cost?" she asked nervously.

He paused before responding. "At least 750 Nobles."

"W-what?" she stammered in disbelief. "You didn't have to--"

"Don't worry about it," he interrupted. "I'm glad to get a great ride like that out of a nothing place like this."

She lowered her gaze to the floor as they continued toward the back of the garage. When they finally reached it, Keladry was in awe. Its chrome shined like the sun was hitting it for the first time. She couldn't believe how smooth it felt under her touch. It was deep red, the same color as the stripe on Joren's uniform. She put one hand on the buckhorn handlebar and inspected the low-profile headlight.

"A beauty, isn't she?" Joren smiled. Keladry noticed then that he only smiled when talking about bikes. She wordlessly nodded. He continued. "Yeah, a classic. I can't believe they stopped making them after this latest model. A century ago, it was styled after a HD front fork. But unlike the old versions, this one has a shaded windshield like mine and the fuel capacity is more environmentally safe. Not to mention the interchangeable database." He patted the seat. "I could fix this one up for nothing."

She stared at him. "You… you'd do that?"

He narrowed his eyes. "Don't get any ideas. I do this for the bike, not you."

Keladry frowned. "Oh. That's okay. So, what would you add?"

"Tracking system if you're on a chase. Maybe some low-class hidden weapon compartments." He scratched his head. "I'm not sure. Well, let's take this baby out. We're going to Carthak."

Keladry paled a little. "I, um, don't really know--"

Joren snorted. "Oh, come on…"

"Hey!" she snapped. "It's not like they make you take classes for riding at the academy!" She desperately tried not to blush. "So…"

They spent all afternoon at Dunlath, Joren instructing her on the basics. Keladry couldn't feel like more of an idiot the whole time. She wasn't used to encountering things like this. She was accustomed to be the top of her class, and now she thought otherwise. Finally at 5:32 PM, they left Dunlath and started out for Corinth. The 1B officer nervously tried to get used to riding. The helmet felt so weird the first time she put it on. Joren of course, had no problem and always remained ten to fifteen feet in front of her. If she dropped back, he would look and see and then drop back with her-- although she knew he didn't like it. 

Speed was so obvious when you looked at him. He ached to race along the highway. He didn't seem to care about the nice countryside around them. The fresh green grass or the mountains in the distance. The unbelievable blue sky soothed Keladry more than she anticipated. Tortall was beautiful, but nothing compared to nature herself.

And another two days later, Joren and Keladry boarded the ferry across the Great Inland Sea to where Carthak was situated on the coast across from them. Mumbling something she didn't catch, Joren went upstairs after parking in the garage. Keladry turned off her bike's database and went up after him, slightly confused.

She found him sitting at a booth in the corner while the other passengers of the ferry flocked to the middle to buy food. Her stomach grumbled a bit, but she wanted to talk to her 'partner' first. Keladry slid into the seat across from him. "Hey. What's up?"

His mood still remained the same from when they first met. He glanced at her and shrugged. "Nothing. We have to change clothes before we reach the mainland again. No sense in letting everyone know we're DJPF."

"Right," she nodded. "Are you hungry?"

"No," he replied in a drab voice and leaned his elbow on the table. "Go ahead and get something to eat. I don't care."

"You never care," she thought and went up to get in line. When she returned with a meal consisting of two triangle sandwiches, a bag of chips, an apple, and a can of orange soda, Joren was holding a portable database in his hands. She assumed he kept it in his main belt since she didn't notice it before. "Are you sure you're not hungry?"

"I'm sure," he looked up with an expression of annoyance.

She popped the tab on her orange soda and continued, "Well, _I_ don't want a partner who works on an empty stomach. It isn't healthy and I know for a fact you haven't eaten." She thought to her self, "Oh, there you go again, Kel. Lecturing somebody on what they should do, just like Neal or Owen."

Joren glared at her. Kel stared at him, and happily won the staring match as he reached for her apple and started to polish it with his sleeve. He put down the portable database. Before he took his first loud crunching bite, he pointed to it. "That's our guy."

Keladry leaned over the table and turned it around to see the screen right side up. On the holo-screen was a man with bronze skin and short dark hair. His menacing eyes tried to intimidate her, as well as his scowl. His nose was prominent in his face, and his eyebrows thick and low. His high forehead left something to be thought of. Whenever she saw high foreheads, she thought of someone keeping their chin high up as well. 

"Ozorne Tasikhe," she breathed. "That's the guy?"

"Yeah," he said, holding his half-eaten apple in his hand. "There are no leads to his location except that he's in Carthak and he's been causing loads of trouble." He quickly finished his apple and tossed the core into the waste can three feet away.

Keladry chewed on her sandwich and took another sip of her drink. "So, Mr. Special Operative, what do you want to do?"

He thought for a moment, and then replied, "We'll stake out one of the clubs in the slums. I know a few places down there with reputations for brawls involving rebel members. Look it up if you have to." He stood up. "I'm getting out of uniform."

She finished her lunch while reading up on the most dangerous areas of Carthak. Then she took his database with her when she went to change into some civilian clothes. Keladry hardly wore civilian clothes. Her whole life had been in uniform. This time, she inspected herself in the mirror with a disapproving look. The 1B officer wore a sleeveless blue shirt with a gray vest, then a pair of blue jeans and faded white sneakers. She fit her handgun into its holster under her thick vest, then slipped her collapsible energy glaive into her ankle brace. 

"I _look_ normal," she bit her lip. "So why does it feel so weird?" She rolled her eyes. " Oh, that's right. I'm _not_ normal. That's why."

Then she put on her gloves and her wristband again. With a satisfied mind, she left the bathroom. She returned back to the passenger area. She spotted Joren at the same booth before and went to join him. He didn't look too much out of uniform-- black pants, boots, black jacket and a shirt with red collars. He retained his cold mood. 

"If he wasn't such a rude jerk, I'd think he looked handsome," she thought and sat down. "Hey. So, are we almost there?"

"Yeah. Don't screw up our covers, Mindelan."

She narrowed her eyes. "Same goes to you, Stone."

~~

Carthak was like a futuristic Gotham City. The place was dim, not just because of the smoke and the high skyscrapers that blocked out the sunlight-- but the people who lived there. Trash littered the streets while homeless people gathered around steel barrels with fire inside. Ground cars drove past, while hover cars were flying three stories above in their own traffic lighted traffic lanes. Thieves and criminals lurked in the shadows. Housewives bolted their windows when they could not afford digital locks. Children played inside, confined to their rooms for fear of being snatched away from their families.

Keladry and Joren rode into a private garage. The man there had a good reputation. Their rides wouldn't get stolen. Joren and Keladry wore false ID pages over their real ones and let the man scan those. They were undercover, after all. 

"There's a place called Crypt near here. I don't want to go inside unless we have to, so we'll hang around the entrance."

She nodded and they walked silently to the ominous club. They heard loud music as they rounded the corner. A man with white blond hair cropped close to his head was strolling down the sidewalk toward the entrance. He had large brown eyes, but a frown on his face. Joren stiffened. Keladry glanced at him.

"What is it?"

"I know that guy from the Wanted List. He works for Tasikhe."

"Do you think our guy is here?" she whispered back.

A black hover limousine lowered itself slowly from the hover lanes above and parked in front of the Crypt.

"I guess that answers your question," he said and pulled her over to the side of a building. With wide eyes, Keladry was backed up against the wall. Joren put his arms around her waist and pressed himself up against her.

"Hey!" she whispered fiercely. "You pervert, what do you think you're d--"

"Shut up!" he growled. "Put your arms around my neck and look over my shoulder. Watch the damn limo. We're not officers here, remember, Mindelan?"

Keladry blushed slightly and did as she was told. She shivered nervously when she felt his nose touch her ear. 

"What do you see?" he asked.

"The guy you pointed out earlier--"

"Kieran LaMinch."

"Yeah. LaMinch is opening the door to the limo," she whispered, while trying to keep her head down on his shoulder. "A man is stepping out."

Joren closed his eyes. "What does he look like?"

"So far, all I see is black hair. He's… he's shaking hands with LaMinch," she squinted. "Okay, okay. Now he's turning around… It's our man, all right."

"Shh! Don't talk so loudly." Joren paused. "What now?"

"They're going in."

"Then we are, too." He let go of her and stood back. Keladry kept her face lowered still. No one had ever held her like that. It definitely wasn't in the job description. "No wonder I never became an undercover agent," she thought to herself. "This requires a lot of acting that I'm not good at it one bit."

"Hello? Are we going?" Joren glared at her. She snapped out of her thoughts.

"Yeah. Right." She followed him to the entrance of the club. The bouncers, two giant men with headsets, checked their ID's and admitted them entrance. There was a discount price for couples, so the two partners hooked arms and smiled falsely.

"I can't believe this," she muttered.

"Stop complaining. Somebody will hear you." 

Crypt was a big club. There was a large dance floor with flashing colored lights and holographic projections on the ceiling. Men and women danced wildly to the fast-paced beat. Others sat at the long bar drinking their cocktails and beers. Others sat at private stalls and tables. Keladry spotted Ozorne and Kieran at the lone booth at the far end of the dance floor.

"I am _not_ dancing," she whispered to him with determination when he saw them as well.

"Neither am I," he replied. "Damn it. We'll have to hang around the bar until I think of something."

"_We_ think of something," she corrected.

"Whatever."

They ambled over to the bar and sat down on the end closest to the dancing floor. Joren leaned toward Keladry. "Psst. I'm going force some information out from the bartender. Why don't you go flirt with those henchmen over there."

"What? No way! How do you even know they're henchmen?"

Joren tapped his belt where his database was concealed. She folded her arms. "Can't we just wait until we single out Ozorne and arrest him, there? The guy is filth, through and through. Why exert more effort than we have to?"

"He attacks the government for reasons we don't know," he stated coldly.

"Yes, we do know," she argued. "He wants power."

"Maybe so, but there's more to it than that," he replied. His eyes were misted over slightly. "I know there is."

She decided not to ask questions. A girl sitting beside her turned around. She was short, plump, only giving her the advantage of sensuous curves, with long dark hair, brown eyes, and full lips. She was dark skinned and had a dangerous smile. "I'm sorry. I couldn't help but overhear your… conversation."

She flipped her hair over her shoulder, not in a ditzy way, but in a confident, in-control manner. Joren glared at his partner.

"You were talking too loud."

"I was not," she protested and turned back to the girl. The stranger looked to be 22 to 24 years old. She wore a light green duster over a white halter top with forest green embroidery and flared black pants. Keladry once again felt the insecurity of her own looks creep in. "Um, excuse me, but how much did you overhear?"

"Oh, enough. So you want Ozorne, right? You must be with the DJPF because you certainly don't look like bounty hunters. Well, maybe he does, but not you, honey," she said while drumming her fingers on the bar top.

Joren scowled. "What do you want?"

"I'm kind of thirsty…"

"And that means _what_ to me?" 

"Dirty Martini. Please."

The operative from Tusaine mumbled something incoherent, although Keladry was sure it was vulgar, and lifted his hand to signal one of the bartenders. A middle-aged man with dark hair and a full beard walked over. Joren ordered the drink with a sneer on his face and turned back to the mysterious woman.

"Is that enough to keep you quiet?" he asked with mock politeness.

"I guess so," she sighed. She held out her hand to Keladry. "It's nice to meet you. I'm Lalasa Isran."

Keladry shook hands with her a bit reluctantly. "Nice to meet you. I'm, uh… Adalia," she said quickly, taking her sister's name. It was also the name on her fake ID. She hoped her sister didn't mind. Well, not that Adie would find out. It was for the good of the country, after all. 

"And your boyfriend's name?"

The two officers grimaced visibly. Keladry shuddered. "He's my partner, not my boyfriend."

"Don't tell her we're partners!" Joren scolded.

"She already knows we're DJPF," she pointed out. "So, Lalasa, you really won't tell anyone about us?"

Lalasa opened her mouth to rich laughter. "Of course not. To tell you the truth, I'm not too fond of Mr. Tasikhe."

"How can we trust you? We don't even know you," Joren hissed.

She leaned toward him and smiled again, an enrapturing, perilous smile. "You don't have much of a choice, do you?"

The two officers exchanged looks. They didn't.

Lalasa sipped her Dirty Martini and stood up. "Thanks for the drink, sweethearts." She began to walk away, and stopped two steps away. She threw a glance over her shoulder and called, "You can find him after hours downstairs. Go through the alley, climb the wall, and find the extremely rusted sewer cover. It's the back way in."

And she was gone. Keladry stared after her, trying to catch glimpses of the strange woman in the crowd she disappeared into. She turned uncertainly to her partner. "So, what do you think?"

"We've got nothing to lose," he shrugged-- something she now concluded was his default reaction to everything.

"Except our heads, maybe."

"That's what missions like these are about," Joren said. He signaled for the bartender and asked for some scotch. Keladry glared at him with a slight look of horror etched in her face.

"You can't be drinking now. We're on the job! And besides, no active officer is allowed to drink. It's one of our codes."

Joren rolled his eyes. "Stop being a good two shoes. Relax. We have hours until we check out Ozorne. I'll stay sober." He patted his disgusting flat stomach. "I've got a good constitution."

"By Glory," she muttered. She rested her chin in her palm again and watched the dance floor. It was a pity that she couldn't dance very well. Who had time for fun when you were an aspiring officer trying to follow in the footsteps of a nearly legendary figure? She sighed and shook her head.

Hours later when Keladry was practically asleep from boredom, Joren shook her shoulder. Sure enough, he seemed sharp and sober. They left the Crypt, not having to navigate through throngs of people anymore. The crowds had thinned out. Keladry looked at her wristband. "It's 2:00 in the morning," she groaned. "We've been here for five hours."

"Tough," he replied and led them out. "That Lalasa woman better be right. And if it turns out to be a false tip, then we're screwed forever. We can't put on the record that a strange woman gave us this information. We'd be discharged from the friggin' service."

They entered the alley beside Crypt and climbed over the wall by using a couple of metal trash bins as their footings. Joren jumped down, not even offering a helping hand to Keladry as she gripped the top of the wall. Of course, she reminded herself, she didn't need help. She was a first class officer, wasn't she? Keladry swung herself over the wall and dropped to the ground. 

They were now in an alley that opened up to the opposite street behind the Crypt. And just as Lalasa dictated, there was a very rusted sewer cover two feet away. Joren hooked his fingers into the sewer cover's holes and lifted it up. There was a clean metal ladder underneath that led into the darkness. He shook off the rust that was left on his gloves.

"Well, let's get to it. Go first. And be careful, for crying out loud," he warned her.

"I _will_," she said through gritted teeth and climbed down. She moved away when she reached the ground. Joren came after her and closed up the sewer hole after them.

"Do you have a light?" Keladry whispered.

"Use your pager light. The smaller, the better," he replied.

She touched her pager, turning on the tiny light that came with the mini-screen. Joren did the same, advancing ahead of her. He gestured with his hand for her to follow him as they traveled down the narrow tunnel to a square of light at the end. They reached the square of light, which was actually a dark window overlooking a secret room beneath the club. And there was Ozorne with Kieran, talking about something they could not hear.

"Hey, we can take them," Keladry whispered. "As long as there aren't any other henchmen around. Do you think there are?"

"Ozorne is a confident scum sucker, but he isn't stupid. Yeah, there probably are."

"So what do we do?"

"What are you armed with?"

She felt for her gun under vest. "A nine-millimeter Glock and an energy glaive."

"Any extra clips?" he asked.

"Just two. I couldn't fit any more under this vest. You?"

He drew two Desert Eagles from under his jacket. She stared wide-eyed at the two handguns. "You brought _those_?"

"Yeah. An Uzi, too," he said sarcastically. "Come on. Lift your jaw up off the floor and let's crash the party."

"You're kidding."

"No, I'm not." He pointed to the door and then to the metal chair Ozorne was sitting on. "How much do you want to bet I can block that door and knock LaMinch out before the first brainless guy bursts through the door?"

"I'd bet however much I owed you for the bike. That's crazy!" she said through clenched teeth. "The room has to be monitored. They can… They can… have hidden guns in the wall. I don't know!"

He gripped the edge of the window panel. "There's only one way to find out." He pointed further down the tunnel. "See? There's another window above the door. You go down the tunnel and find the other opening. Page me when you're there."

Keladry glared at him as she got up and went down the hall. It circled around, just as Joren thought, and she paged him. 

"Okay, so now what?" she spoke into her communicator.

"Directly on three. You take LaMinch and knock the chair under the doorknob. As soon as you do that, move _away_ from the door. Ozorne is mine."

Her heart was beating rapidly. She suddenly found it hard to breathe. Nothing could have ever prepared her for this. 

"Hey, hey. What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she gasped and closed her eyes. "Just give me a second."

"Hurry it up. We'll be in and out of this place. Don't let it get to you."

She opened her eyes. "How the hell do we get out of here?"

"Knock out Kieran, tie him up. I'll climb up through the window again by standing on the table. I haul up Ozorne after me and you have your gun trained on him-- same way up the ladder and into the alley. See? It's in and out, Mindelan. Just relax."

"Easy for you to say," she muttered. "Okay, I'm ready."

"All right then. One… two… _three_!"

Joren slid the window panel open and dropped in at the same time as she did. In a split second, Joren had his gun pressed against the back of Ozorne's head, yelling at him to put his hands up. Keladry kicked the chair against the door, setting it under place under the knob. She aimed at Kieran.

"Put your hands up!" she shouted.

Shouts came from down the hall outside the door. Joren cursed and carefully approached Ozorne. "Keep your hands up, Tasikhe!"

"What the hell is this?" Ozorne screamed, outraged.

"Shut up! Keep your hands where I can see them!" Joren yelled and removed the rebel leader's guns from under his suit jacket. He tucked them into the waistband of his own pants and moved to remove Kieran's weapons. Lucky for them, he only had one revolver and a pocket full of bullets. Joren handed the revolver to Keladry and slipped the bullets into her jean pocket since she was busy aiming at the two criminals.

"Okay, we'll take this very smoothly, gentlemen," Joren said coldly. "Tasikhe, get over here. LaMinch, we'll send the Carthak DJPF for you later." He cautiously approached the other man and slammed the hilt of his gun on the back of his head. The man crumpled to the ground. Joren took out a pair of handcuffs from his jacket and chained him to the pipe on the wall. "Mindelan!"

"Doing fine," she replied. More noises came from the other side of the door. "Go ahead and take him up."

Joren pushed the table under the high window near the ceiling. He climbed up after holstering his guns and reached down to grab and angry Ozorne. "Don't try anything or she has permission to shoot. Not like anyone would miss you, right Mr. Tasikhe?"

"Fuck you," the man spat and climbed into the tunnel. 

"Watch your mouth, pal," Joren warned. He drew one of his guns again and aimed at him. "Okay, Mindelan. Get up here now."

"Coming," she said and jumped up. She gripped the edge of the window and grunted as she pulled herself up. Just as her feet got into the tunnel, the door burst open. The chair was thrown into the table. The henchmen opened fire.

"Shit!" Joren screamed and yanked her back from the window. "Get up the ladder, now! NOW!"

They ran down the tunnel, dragging a kicking and cursing Ozorne to the ladder. There were sparks in the dark where the bullets ricocheted off metal. Keladry went up first; knocking aside the sewer cover and pulling up the bronze skinned man after her. Joren fired back down the tunnel where the henchmen were already climbing up. He scrambled up the ladder as he heard bullets hit the ladder rungs. 

Joren put the sewer cover back on. Keladry held back their prisoner while Joren shoved a dumpster over the sewer opening. He panted with the effort. Then he used his pager to call the local DJPF. 

"They're not going to get here in time," Keladry said nervously. "We should have called them first."

"No. Someone would see them miles away and scatter the Crypt's scum everywhere. Ozorne would have been gone." He cursed under his breath and held a second gun up to the man. "Well, Mr. Tasikhe. I hope you have a nice time rotting in prison. I heard Carthak Penitentiary is very nice this time of year."

Keladry shook her head.

"There they are! Get them!" a man screamed as he entered the alley. He began to shoot at them.

"Behind the dumpster!" Joren yelled. They took cover. He fired around the edge. There were about a dozen strong-looking men, all henchmen for Ozorne. The man himself grinned when he knew they couldn't keep it up. Keladry took out her empty clip and put in a new one. She joined in firing back while Joren kept his gun trained on him.

It was about ten minutes when they heard sirens. The shoot out was finally going to end. Ten squad cars of the Carthakian DJPF pulled up, their red and blue lights flashing. The sirens continued to blaze as the officers opened fire on the henchmen, causing most to fall injured, but not dead. 

"Yes," Keladry breathed. "It's over." She loosened her grip on Ozorne's collar when she turned to look at them. 

"I don't think so," Ozorne said and shoved her way. He made a desperate run for the wall.

"No! Get him!" Joren yelled as he ran after Ozorne. He shot at the rebel leader. One shot grazed him in the shoulder, but he still managed to vault over the next wall over. "We can't let him get away!"

"No!" two officers shouted as they neared. "He has to be alive for the trial!"

"Oh shut up!" Joren yelled back. He cleared the wall without any problems and took off after the sprinting older man. For his age, Ozorne ran pretty fast. He rounded the corner. Joren came closer. From the corner of his eye, he thought he saw something red blinking. He looked.

It was an explosive.

~~

Keladry climbed over the wall with two other second class officers. Just as she dropped to the ground, she heard a great loud noise from not too far off. She covered her ears and closed her eyes. It made her ears ring anyhow. She shook her head, trying to clear it, and ran in the direction of the explosion. There was smoke trailing up into the sky. 

"This does not look good," she thought to herself. Keladry rounded the corner and found Joren on his hands and knees coughing. His face was black from the dirt and ash that rained down on them. Several objects in the street were on fire, and dark gray smoke drifted everywhere. The two officers dashed back to get help.

Keladry jogged over to her partner. She offered him a hand up, but he didn't take it and got up on his own.

"What happened?"

"Blinking red light… next thing I know… boom," he coughed. "He got away."

She looked into the smoke as if she would receive answers. Instead she received disappointment. "My first big mission. Failed."

"Hey."

"What?"

"You owe me at least 750 Nobles."

"Argh…"

~~

Author: Whoa… that must have been the longest chapter I've ever done. Well, I hope it tides you over. I'm going to have a busy two weeks trying to catch up on work I've neglected for school and otherwise. I'll try to fit in a chapter every now and then. Please, please be patient. Once again, I welcome all comments and criticism.

Disclaimer: Gotham City belongs to Warner Brothers and the modified look of the Softtail Springer belongs to Harley Davidson. I got all my information from a rental place called Eagleriders, so give information credit to them. Also: all gun information I received does not mean I support violence of that sort. (Does anyone remember Columbine?) It's bad, and I'm sorry I had to use it. As to where, I received the information, well I just watch violent movies. (Don't start criticizing television, please. There's enough of that.)

Closing Credits:

Special thanks to those who helped me with descriptions:

( Note: these people are VERY cool. Do not mess with them.)

Kestrel

Erin (Hyper Girl to the Rescue)

Sullychkk (Ack! All I remembered was your e-mail! I'M SO SORRY! E-MAIL ME, OKAY?)

And also to the people who volunteered to help with my web page:

FireLily

Jaelawyn Noble (please e-mail me)

And if anyone is good with fixing web pages, please e-mail me. My e-mail is listed at top.

   [1]: mailto:silverwLng@aol.com



	4. Back To School

It Could Be Worse

Episode 4: Back To School

By Sulia Serafine

[1-15-01. A Protector of the Small fanfic set in an alternate universe; all credit goes to Tamora Pierce. I'm broke, so you can't sue me.

Oh, one more thing: BAD LANGUAGE (I. E. cursing, swearing…). You have been warned!

I'd also like to thank those who gave me help with the character descriptions. If anyone else want to help me, please e-mail me at [silverwLng@aol.com][1], okay? I'm finally getting around to working on my tiny website, and there's a new section for my Tortall stories. I'll tell you the address when I deem it worthy to be seen by you. Enjoy the chapter, I know you've been waiting for it! Please, tell me what you think. I'd also like to once again thank those who made ALLO a success. This one's for you.

P.S. Something I forgot! This Story takes place in 949 H.E, but it is an ALTERNATE UNIVERSE! AND ANY IMPORTANT CHARACTERS OF THE TAMORA PIERCE UNIVERSE I HAVEN'T PUT IN YET WILL ENTER THE STORY LATER ON, AS MAJOR CHARACTERS, NOT CAMEOS. Thank you and have a nice day.]

"So he got away?"

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay. I mean, this is Ozorne Tasikhe we're talking about. No one could have done a better job."

"Yeah, I guess-- ACHOO!"

"Are you okay, Neal?"

There was some sniffling heard from the communicator. "Yeah. I'm okay. Thank you. By the way, Bonehead called. He's bored out of his mind."

She smirked. "Oh, really?"

"Yeah. Paired with a guy who he says is the exact opposite of me."

"Ah. I see. He's too used to your big mouth."

"Hey!"

"I'm kidding," she chuckled. She leaned over the pipe next to the resting station to spot her partner. He was waiting impatiently beside his bike and hers. She ducked back around the corner. "Listen. We're not too far from Tortall. I'll see you soon."

"Okay. Bye."

She ended the transmission. Then Keladry brushed off the front of her field uniform. One of the links of the Hyperion bands on her leg was undone. She redid it and inspected the rest of herself. Perfect for being yelled at by the commissioner. She jogged back to her bike. "Hey. Let's go."

"It's about time," he muttered. He got on his bike. "We're two miles outside the city. Let's get to headquarters before 3 o'clock."

She nodded and put on her blue helmet. She was starting to get used to riding a motorcycle. But as for the speed…

"You're too slow," Joren called back through the database's intercom. "Come on. You're no where near the speed limit."

"As apposed to _over_ it?" she retorted. She could hear him snort.

Dominion Jewel Protection Force Headquarters was just as she left it. Of course, Keladry had been gone for a little over a week. Still, she was glad to be back. The bright blue sky… the sun shining down on all thirty levels of the grand institution and the cool breeze on her face. The humming of hover cars was music to her ears. The tall towers and skyscrapers reflected the sun's rays as they climbed into the clouds. Nothing could spoil this sight…

…Nothing but a swearing young man.

"Stop doing that," she scolded Joren as they walked to the elevator. They entered the clear tube shaft. Keladry pressed the coordinates for the Main Offices once again and folded her arms. The floor beneath them rose up from the ground floor. Keladry watched people mill around on the walkways. There was a group of children taking a field trip. They were led in two lines across the floor. She waved to them. Then she glanced back at Joren. "I said, stop doing that."

"You're not my mother, so I don't have to listen to you," he replied coolly. "This has been the worst week of my life."

"Mine, too," she said under her breath. "I only hope Wyldon is in a good mood."

~~

"YOU LET HIM GET AWAY?"

They cringed.

"Uh, _let_ is such a strong word… We really tried," Keladry said in a light voice. It wasn't helping. 

"It does not change the fact that we were this close to capturing Ozorne Tasikhe and you let him get away!" Wyldon slammed his hands down on his desk. Keladry nearly jumped in her seat. The kind-hearted but stuffy commissioner was now on a rampage. She scratched the back of her neck nervously while Joren sat with his arms defiantly crossed.

"I know, sir. I apologize," Keladry continued, trying to calm the nearly bald man down.

"You had him _in your grasp_! Literally!" he held his hands out to her in a grabbing gesture. "And you loosen your grip for him to get away? Mindelan!"

Joren snickered.

"And don't think you're not to blame either, Stone!"

"But--"

"No but's! You are an experienced special operative. This may have been one of your more profiled cases, but record shows you usually do better under pressure," Wyldon said through gritted teeth. "And that being the case, you have no excuse like Mindelan here does and gives you twice the punishment!"

Keladry smirked inwardly. Joren seemed a shade paler than he usually was.

"And so," Wyldon took a deep breath, "I'm assigning you to a training case."

The two young officers exchanged bewildered looks.

"Sir?" Keladry gulped.

Wyldon sat down in his chair and leaned back. His eyes had a suspicious glint in them. "Meaning: First Class B Officer Keladry Mindelan and Special Operative Joren Stone are now assigned to train a rookie officer fresh from the academy out on the field. You'll receive his name at the Assignments office. That is all. Dismissed."

Keladry's jaw would have hit the floor if it could. She stood up. "But… but sir!"

"Mindelan! I said, dismissed!" He pointed at the door. Joren slid out of his chair muttering something and went out the door. Keladry sighed and followed. The two officers trudged dejectedly to the Assignments office down the hall without saying a word. When they reached it, they slumped down into the plush office chairs waiting for their turn in line.

"I can't believe this," Joren said as he laid his head back and groaned. 

"This is terrible," Keladry covered her face with her hands.

"This is all your fault, you know," he glared at her and lifted his head. 

"My fault? Why not yours?" she dropped her hands. 

He folded his arms. "I've never, _never_, screwed up a mission in my entire life. You're obviously bad luck." He rolled his eyes. "I told them I worked alone."

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Mr. High and Mighty," she sarcastically replied. She stood up when the secretary beckoned for her. "Let's make the best of it, okay?"

"Whatever."

"Excuse me, we need to find the name of the rookie officer straight out of the academy? It's by orders of Commissioner Wyldon," Keladry told the woman at the desk. She nodded and began to type in the command.

"Hmm… His name is Cleon Kennan, new third class B… Age: 22 assigned to be at the Academy for another month before assigned a place at Headquarters."

Joren stood up when he overheard the word 'academy'. He leaned over the desk. "Wait a second. Are you saying that we will have to move into the academy for a month until he officially gets out?"

The secretary looked at her screen again. "Yes. That's right."

"_Hell no!_" Joren roared. "I'm never going back there again!"

"Hey! Stone, get a hold of yourself!" Keladry yelled. She grabbed a hold of his arm to prevent him from leaping over the counter and grappling with the secretary's computer. She smiled politely while continuing to hold him back. "I'm so sorry, miss. Uh… is there anything else that you can tell us about Officer Kennan?"

The woman scooted her chair back while watching Joren desperately trying to grab her computer database. She pushed her wire frame glasses back up the bridge of her nose and looked at the screen. "It says here that he is the best sharp shooter at the academy and that is why he's being put on probation out on the field without apprenticeship here at Headquarters."

"Who gives a damn?" Joren yelled and reached farther. Keladry yanked him back with all her strength. They went tumbling to the floor. At the loud crash and sounds of curses, everyone in the office stared at them. A few began to whisper, but the rest remained quiet and tried hard to pretend they didn't see that.

"Get off!" Keladry cried. "Just get a grip, Stone! We're training a rookie!"

"God," he moaned, getting off of her. "My career is over…"

She punched him in the arm angrily and stood up. "No, it's not. Now come on. We'll go visit Neal in the infirmary."

Joren immediately stopped his groaning and stared at her. He raised one eyebrow suspiciously. "Squealin' Nealan is here?'

Her anger from before was forgotten. Keladry almost burst into laughter at the nickname. She covered her mouth and shook her head. "What did you call him?"

He shrugged. "That's what everyone in my graduating class called him. He doesn't scream. He squeals. Pansy."

Keladry got into defense-mode as they left the Main Offices. "Hey, now. He's my friend. Don't make fun of him."

"I'll do what I want, Mindelan. So, lead on. Let's see the punk."

She glared at him as they boarded another elevator and rode it to the infirmary. Dr. Baird waved to Keladry as she walked past the front desk and to the private rooms. She knocked on the last one. Joren yawned.

"Come in," Neal called. Keladry turned the doorknob. There were some doors at Headquarters that still had to be opened manually, just as there were plenty in poor under-budgeted Carthak. They entered. Neal was in his bed still, in hospital gown and robe. He was happily watching the holo-screen's cartoons. Keladry smirked.

"Still a child," she commented.

"And a pansy," Joren added.

Neal sat up when he saw the blonde operative. "Joren Stone! Here? What the…"

"Partner, remember?" Keladry lifted up her hand.

"Nice to see you, Queenscove. It seems you're still as big and goofy as ever," Joren smirked dangerously. Neal shrank back into his bed. 

"Uh… heheh…right, Stone. H-how are you?"

Keladry frowned. Neal was afraid of Joren? Neal was older than Joren! How could that be?

"How are you feeling?" Keladry asked, cutting into the conversation.

"Better," Neal nodded in reply. "Dad says I might be out in three months. I'm still-- ACHOO!"

Joren stepped back to avoid getting sneezed on. Neal reached for a tissue and blew his nose. Keladry sat down in one of the metal chairs. She shrugged. "That's good. It's better than four months."

"Yeah, but at least he won't be stuck training a rookie," Joren muttered.

Neal grinned. "You're kidding me…"

"Oh shut up, Bonehead," Keladry huffed, out of character.

~~

The Academy of the DJPF was one of Keladry's fondest memories. It was where she learned most of her skills. The three prestigious towers surrounded the group of gray and blue buildings that the academy consisted of. In the center was the large courtyard, which a football game could easily be played on, scattered with trees, tables, and benches. Surrounded it were buildings all lined up with the three towers. And all three stories high. Some were classrooms. Others were dorms. It was a consistent pattern.

Keladry listened to the sounds her shoes made on the polished tile floor as she entered the main lobby. There was a high ceiling with a crystal chandelier and several large light fixtures throughout the room. Teenagers, as well as adults, in the gray academy uniforms filled the lobby, talking or conversing with each other, or asking questions from academy employees. 

A few cadets watched Joren and Keladry enter from the fountain in the center. They awed at the honorable first-class officers, speculating among themselves as to the great reason Keladry and Joren were there.

"Too bad it's a lousy reason," she thought to herself and looked past the cadets. She remembered the fountain, three fish and a mermaid, spouting water every which way. The light stone was unblemished by time. 

"Hurry up. Let's go," Joren grabbed her arm and proceeded to drag her to the front desk. A man was watching over a secretary's shoulder as she typed. He was pointing out something wrong. The man looked up at them. He was tall, heavyset, and paler than Joren. His brown hair continually fell in front of his eyes.

"Welcome back to the Academy, Officers," he smiled with perfect white teeth. "I'm Gareth Naxen, Jr., the Headmaster here. How can I help alumni such as yourselves?"

Keladry bowed slightly. She remembered Headmaster Naxen from her short time there. "Yes, Headmaster, we're looking for Officer Cleon Kennan? The sharp shooter?"

He nodded. "Cleon! Oh, yes. We were expecting you. Salma, can you find where Cleon is right now?"

"Yes," the woman nodded. She searched her files. "He was scheduled to have a talk with the guidance counselor about post-graduation, but he should be in the court yard eating lunch now. He always eats there."

Gareth rubbed his hands together. "That's perfect." He addressed the two young officers again. "I'm sure you remember where the courtyard is. If there's any more trouble, just come here to Miss Aynnar and ask."

Salma smiled and nodded. Keladry cleared her throat. "Actually, could you tell us what he looks like?"

"He's a red-head, um, tall," Salma bit her lip trying to recall. "Yes, and he should already be wearing the casual uniform of DJPF."

"Colors?" Joren asked with a yawn.

"Green, like his eyes," Gareth chimed in. "The young man has a great sense of humor. You won't be able to miss him. Have a nice day." And with that, he went back to conversing with Salma. Keladry and Joren went past the front desk and through the sliding doors into the triangular courtyard.

Joren looked around him. "I'm in hell, I'm in hell, I'm in hell…"

"Hey!" she chided him. "Don't do that. I happen to love this place. Years after graduation people still talk about the academy in reverence and fondness. I know I do."

"Yeah, well it was hell for me," he replied. 

"Would that be your problem with authority and all the instructors being around?" she asked casually.

"You could say that. Thank Heaven I passed the graduation tests without a problem and got out to Tusaine."

There was a sudden burst of laughter from a group of young men and women in the center of the courtyard. In the center, there were six benches set up in a circle around a pond. Trees shaded this favorite spot. Right then, cadets were laughing at someone's joke in the very center. A roasted chicken leg was flung up in the air. Another burst of laughter and there was a splash.

"This isn't happening," Joren said through gritted teeth. "Don't tell me that's--"

"Our rookie," Keladry finished. She grabbed Joren by the arm again and dragged him, unwillingly, forward to the group of cadets. As they saw the two officers approach, and being so young, they parted easily and let them through.

"What's all the commotion?" Keladry asked. She gasped when she saw.

A tall youth with sopping red hair was climbing out of the pond where he had fallen, most probably on purpose from the grins and winks he gave everyone. He laughed and was helped out by two male cadets that looked to be new at the academy. Then he shook his hair, which splattered drops of water onto everyone in the crowd.

"Nice one, Cleon!"

"Aww, Cleon, now you've gotten your brand new uniform wet and dirty!"

"Here, have some more chicken!"

"Oh, you can have the rest," Cleon laughed while taking off his uniform jacket and wringing it out. He turned around and saw them. "Hello there! My name's Cleon Kennan. Who are you?"

"We're in charge of you," Keladry smiled. Cleon reached forward and shook her hand with his wet one. She had to admit it was humorous and chuckled a bit. "What happened here?"

"Just some good-natured fun," Cleon beamed. He looked down at himself. "I hope you're not offended by the state of my uniform."

"Oh, please. You're a mockery, worse than the pansy," Joren mumbled. Keladry elbowed him in the ribs and he shot her a warning look. 

"Well, hey, why don't you get to your room and change," she suggested warmly. It didn't take long to realize that Cleon was going to be just like Neal and Owen, if not worse. Cleon continued to wring out his clothing. "Seriously. Head on up to your room. My partner and I will settle in. We'll meet you at the shooting range. You can show us some of your skills, okay?"

"Yes, ma'am!" Cleon saluted and jogged away.

~~

"So, Officer Cleon, how long have you been at the academy?" Keladry asked, while reading some information sheets about him. She sat in a chair beside Joren while Cleon picked out a handgun from the Academy's arsenal. The redhead whistled. 

"I guess since I was fifteen. I turned twenty-two just a month ago."

"Oh! Well, happy belated birthday," Keladry offered.

"Thanks." He studied her for a moment. "You know, you look a bit young to be a first class officer."

"She's twenty," Joren said monotonously while staring out the window. "Little Miss Perfect here broke my record for the shortest time at the academy."

Keladry stared at him. "I… I broke your record?"

He shrugged. "Who cares? You did. I don't mind. I _do_ mind that you got us into this mess."

"Oh," she frowned. "Well, you played a big part of it, too, Joren. Anyway, Cleon, aren't you going to wear a headset and some goggles? They always made us do that here."

Cleon smiled. "Well, why don't you do it now?"

"Used to gunfire," Joren yawned. He made a shooing motion with his hand. "Well, go on. Show us what you got."

The redhead nodded and took aim of his target. He fired three rounds, all shots landing on their mark. Keladry's eyes widened as she found the difficulty of the target. She put down the papers. "Hey, that's great."

He grinned. "I could do it with my eyes closed."

And to prove his point, he glanced at his next target two feet left of the first and then closed his eyes and fired. Once again, he hit his mark without having to adjust his aim for more than five seconds. Keladry clapped softly. "I think you'll do just fine in the field with skills like that."

"Thanks!"

~~

A week passed. Cleon liked to talk almost as much as Neal and soon Keladry considered him as one of them. Despite the week of acquaintance, she already knew about his family life and everything she'd ever have to know about Cleon. The third-class rookie made friends very fast. 

"So, can we take a squad car and go out to the city again today?" he asked her one day at lunch.

"Um, I'm not sure. We'll see," Keladry said and drank her cup of water. Joren reluctantly sat with them, as always, stabbing his food with a fork. She frowned at him.

"Man, it was exciting yesterday when we caught that guy who was skipping out on his parole!" Cleon exclaimed. He was practically shoveling food into his mouth between sentences.

"Don't eat so fast. You'll choke just like Owen."

"Who's Owen?"

"A friend of mine. He got transferred to A district."

"Oh."

"Hey, Mindelan," Joren said.

"What?" she turned to him. It was the first time he'd spoken all lunch. He pointed to her wrist. 

"Your pager."

She looked at it. "I really have to keep the sound on." She answered it. It was Neal. "Hey. What's up?"

"Has the commissioner called you yet?"

"Uh, no," she replied. "Why?"

Neal sounded a little excited. "If he does, and asks you if you want a low-class case, say yes!"

Joren grabbed her wrist and started talking. "Why would we do that, Pansy?"

"Joren!" Neal shouted. "I'm not talking to you, I'm talking to Kel! Anyway, the low class case is for Numair Salmalin and Daine Sarassri. That's why. Daine is one hot chick…"

"Neal," Kel began.

"I know, I know. Don't call women chicks," he repeated after her. Cleon snickered.

"So, where did you hear about this?" 

"I, uh…"

"Eavesdropped?" Cleon supplied. "I bet your friend there tapped into the communication frequencies."

"And what if I did?" Neal asked indignantly.

Kel shook her head while Cleon guffawed with laughter. "Well, Neal. We'll say yes if he calls."

"Cool! Bye."

Less than five minutes later; Kel received a page from Wyldon. He wanted to talk to her face to face, so she had to find a communications screen. The three officers left the courtyard and went inside one of classroom buildings. There, Keladry found a public comm. screen and dialed the commissioner's number. 

"Mindelan!"

"Yes, sir?"

"I have a job for you, pretty low class. Are you willing to take it?"

"No!" Joren shouted over her shoulder. Kel glared at him. 

"Uh, yes sir. What is it?"

Wyldon sat back in his chair. "The two Council members of Technology, Daine Sarassri and Numair Salmalin came to me today from their place at the President's grounds and asked me to find a missing person."

"A missing person's case?" 

"Yes. Do you still want to accept?"

"Yes!" Cleon flashed a thumbs-up as he leaned over her. Keladry pushed him aside.

"Uh, what he said, sir."

"Good."

Keladry cleared her throat. "And may I ask who it is that we're looking for, sir?"

"Thom Trebond."

"Trebond?" she thought. "That sounds familiar." Wyldon continued.

"He's the long lost brother of the President's advisor, Alanna Olau Trebond. Present day rumor says he was a master inventor and scientist. A technological genius, if you will."

She nodded.

"And well, all we know is that he disappeared somewhere out west. It is very important for Mr. Salmalin and Ms. Sarassri to talk to him." He picked up a disk off his desk. "I'll transfer some information from the Council Members to your database account. You can access it later. Dismissed."

He ended the transmission. Keladry sighed. "Well, looks like another road trip."

"Can I ride your motorcycle?" Cleon asked with wide, puppy-dog eyes.

"Uh… no. I think you should stay in a car, Cleon…"

"Both of you are staying in a car," Joren said almost immediately. She turned on him.

"What! But, I _have_ a bike."

"Yes, I'm aware of that. But Cleon is a terrible driver," Joren began, "It'll save on fuel, and… there are plenty other reasons."

She rolled her eyes. "And what about your bike?"

"I don't leave my bike behind, remember?"

"Oh, how could I forget…"

Cleon tapped her on the shoulder. "Is he _always_ going to be like this?"

"Sadly, yes."

~~

Closing Credits:

Special thanks to those who helped me with descriptions:

( Note: these people are VERY cool. Do not mess with them.)

Kestrel

Erin (Hyper Girl to the Rescue)

Sullychkk (Ack! All I remembered was your e-mail! I'M SO SORRY! E-MAIL ME, OKAY?)

And also to the people who volunteered to help with my web page:

FireLily

Jaelawyn Noble 

And if anyone is good with fixing web pages, please e-mail me. My e-mail is listed at top.

   [1]: mailto:silverwLng@aol.com



	5. Finding Thom

It Could Be Worse

Episode 5: Finding Thom

By Sulia Serafine

[1-15-01. A Protector of the Small fanfic set in an alternate universe; all credit goes to Tamora Pierce. I'm broke, so you can't sue me.

Oh, one more thing: BAD LANGUAGE (I. E. cursing, swearing…). You have been warned!

I'd also like to thank those who gave me help with the character descriptions. If anyone else want to help me, please e-mail me at [silverwLng@aol.com][1], okay? I'm finally getting around to working on my tiny website, and there's a new section for my Tortall stories. I'll tell you the address when I deem it worthy to be seen by you. Enjoy the chapter, I know you've been waiting for it! Please, tell me what you think. I'd also like to once again thank those who made ALLO a success. This one's for you.

P.S. Something I forgot! This Story takes place in 949 H.E, but it is an ALTERNATE UNIVERSE! AND ANY IMPORTANT CHARACTERS OF THE TAMORA PIERCE UNIVERSE I HAVEN'T PUT IN YET WILL ENTER THE STORY LATER ON, AS MAJOR CHARACTERS, NOT CAMEOS. Thank you and have a nice day.

P. S. S. I made some character statistics for those major characters introduced so far. It's after the story.]

Keladry put her bike in storage. She had barely ridden it and already, she was going to have to put it up. Joren was right, in his own selfish way. Cleon was a terrible driver and there was no way he was going to sit behind her on her bike the whole entire trip. Joren, of course, still obsessed with his own Black Knight Custom X40, would never abandon it. Nothing short of the will of the gods could part the young man from his bike. She didn't want to know why, but she was sure she was now going to be envying him the whole time. Who would've guessed he could pass on the motorcycle fever to her?

"Hey, Kel! I got my eye on this really nice hover car," Cleon pointed in the dimness of the Headquarters' garage. He was practically jumping up and down in excitement. "I talked to the man in charge of the garage and he says it's an undercover car, but if I really wanted, I could rent it."

"And?" Keladry regarded him skeptically.

"Well, they'll only cover half the rental price," he shuffled his feet. Keladry suppressed a sigh.

"Okay, okay. I'll help you pay for it."

"Great!" He grabbed her hands and began swinging her around. "You're going to love it. It's a nice silver number with leather interior and--"

"Cleon!" she broke free of his hands. "Calm down. We're getting the car, okay?"

"Okay! I already kind of accessed your salary and withdrew some money anyway…"

"How did you do that?" she narrowed her eyes.

"I talked about it so much that Joren was _forced_ to help me and hacked into your account!"

Keladry paled. "I have to talk to him…"

"Sorry, Kel."

"It's okay. Just don't do it again."

"Okay. I can't say the same for him, though." And with that, Cleon went off, singing songs of praise to his dream car. She was afraid he'd overexert himself one day and collapse without warning. He ran off, in search of his perfect car's location while Joren came down on the elevator with their bags. He threw a couple of bags at her, then carried the rest himself. She barely caught them. He threw hard. She slung one over her shoulder and let the other hang from her hand. She decided to let his hacking venture slide for the moment and instead asked, "Hey, did you check on my bike?"

She could have sworn there was a flicker in his eyes. "Yeah. I don't trust it here at Headquarters, though. I took it to a friend's garage. His name is Sam, a mechanic."

"What?" She shifted the bags around in her arms. "You could've asked me, you know."

"It was for the best interests of the bike," he shrugged and walked past her to where Cleon was happily dancing in the garage lanes. She could hear him scold the rookie. "Hey! You're not going to turn into that pansy, Neal, are you? Get your ass over here and haul your own crap!"

"Don't swear!" Keladry yelled at him, although she knew it wouldn't do any good. He'd do what he wanted, end of discussion.

Around 1 o'clock, they left. Keladry driving the sleek silver hover-car that Cleon had picked out. She had to admit-- it was nice and comfortable. Not too, flashy nor shiny-- not to attract attention, anyhow. The chrome was newly polished and the glass windshield and windows spotless. The interior was roomy, but not bulky or empty. It was just right. "A dream car to the very last detail," she though. Keladry turned on the navigation system and database, then opened the window to speak with Joren as he started his bike.

"Hey! Where do we go, first?"

Joren held his helmet in his hands and thought for a moment. "I talked to some people at the archives. The first cities out west that he might have gone to start with Corus, and then Maren, so on. Just follow me."

"I will if you don't speed again," she replied.

"I was not speeding," he protested and put on his helmet. "Let's go."

~~

"We're on a road trip, we're on a road trip," Cleon sang as he munched on some potato chips. Keladry tried to ignore her pounding headache as the redhead continued. Her head was throbbing. She didn't think she could stand it anymore. Her hand slammed on the steering wheel in a burst of irritation.

"For the last time, Cleon! We are on the job searching for a missing person! This is not a road trip!"

Cleon pouted. He counted on his fingers. "Well, we're in a car. And we've got food and stuff in the back. We don't know where we're going. And we won't know when we'll be going home." He leaned back confidently. "Sounds like a road trip to me."

She growled and thought, "I need aspirin…"

~~

"You don't look too well," Neal commented when Keladry called him at a rest station. "I should know what 'well' and 'not well' look like since I've been stuck in the infirmary. And you definitely look… ragged."

"Thanks," she half-said, half-yawned. "Cleon's energy never runs out. He's like you, except worse."

"Ah. It's good to know that someone's filling the void while I'm gone," he grinned. "We can't have you having a nice calm day, now can we? Someone's got to screw it up for you!"

"Oh, cram it," she mock-glared at him.

"Bonehead called again. Should I tell him that I'm not the only ill person around here?"

"Go ahead. I don't care," she waved her hand.

"Well, Miss Shiny Personality, I will do that!"

"Neal…"

He laughed and shook a finger at her, doing an impression of his father. He even lowered his voice. "Young lady, I expect you to get some rest. Go tell your boss to lay off and walk out the door!"

Dr. Baird was never one with authority either when it came to someone's health. She chuckled. "Enough of that, okay? I'd better go before Joren yells--"

"_Mindelan!_"

"Too late…" Neal taunted.

~~

On the fifth day, they stopped at a diner at a resting area just outside Corus. 

Half-asleep at the table, Keladry opened her eyes long enough to observe her partners. Cleon was blissfully snacking on some nachos while watching the holo-screen on the counter, occasionally looking around for the elusive waitress to order more food. Joren was staring out the window, as usual. She grumbled to herself, then blamed her generous spirit as she pushed herself up on her elbows and nudged her untouched plate toward him. "Hey you, eat something."

He gave her a once over-- another default reaction that she was getting use to, then remarked observantly. "The bags under your eyes are huge. We'll stay in this resting area tonight. If you fall asleep at the wheel, they'll probably blame me."

"Fine, fine," she yawned. "Just eat something. I ate an hour ago. You should eat."

"Do you _like_ acting as the mother?"

"No. It's a give-no-take job that requires a lot of patience and a lot of nagging. No, I don't."

"Then why do it?" he raised one eyebrow as if he were actually interested.

"I'm too nice," she replied and let her head fall back onto the table. Cleon turned to look when he heard the soft thump sound her head made as it met the table.

~~

"I'm bored."

"That's nice," Keladry said, not really listening to him.

"Are we almost there?"

"Where?"

"You know, the DJPF department of Corus?"

"Um, yeah. I think so. It depends if I can catch Joren." She paged the blonde in question. "Stop speeding!"

"Nag!" he paged back.

~~

"Are we there yet?"

"No."

"Are we there yet?"

"No."

"Are we there… now?"

"Cleon, we've been through this. Do you want me to throw you out the window?"

"Okay, okay, sorry. Are you sure we're not there yet, Tough Stuff?"

"I should never have let you talk to Neal…"

~~

The three DJPF officers gathered in Joren's hotel room to overlook their notes. He sorted through some papers on his teal covered bed while they looked on. "Okay, so far, we've talked to everyone in Corus. There is nothing mysterious around, nor is there anything that resembles anything associated with the missing person, Mr. Thom Trebond."

"There was that old lady at the antiques shop who claimed her son was Thom Trebond."

"Cleon…"

"Well, it's possible!"

"Get serious," Keladry said.

"Okay. So, we move on to Maren?" Cleon asked. He sat on down on the floor looking up at the two superior officers. "There's not much we can follow, you know? I mean, there are very few given facts about this man. One being--"

"He's an inventor. Technologically advanced areas are more likely to house him," Kel said while tapping her chin.

Joren pointed at another paper. "He hates extremely cold and extremely hot weather. We can go straight west without going north or south."

"And he's between the ages of 30 and 50 with red hair and violet eyes. Oh, this is just peachy," Cleon sighed with sarcasm. "You know what? I'm going to bed. This is giving me a headache. He could have dyed his hair-- or even worse! Gotten colored contacts. So, we can't depend on physical descriptions, can we? Oh, man, my headache!"

"I've had a headache this whole trip," Keladry said, but got up off the bed. She glanced at the clock. "It's late. We'll get some good night sleep. Tomorrow, we'll cross River Olorun to Maren."

In the morning, Keladry received a call from Numair and Daine. She wondered where they found her location, but supposed she could ask later. She ran a hand through her hair in efforts to comb it. She was a mess that morning. "Um, yes?"

Daine's face appeared on the holo-screen. "You're Officer Mindelan, aren't you?"

"Yes, ma'am. What can I do for you?"

"Have you had any luck finding Mr. Trebond?" she asked in an anxious voice. Keladry shook her head.

"The information was pretty broad and general. It's just a matter of time."

The other woman nodded. "I know. I was just hoping…" She cleared her throat. "It's important that we find someone with his knowledge willing to help us."

"Has there been a crisis, ma'am?" Keladry asked with a gentle tone.

"You can say that," Daine nodded. "I better not discuss it. Mr. Salmalin would become angry with me. Please, keep up the ardent work, Officer. I appreciate your efforts."

"Thank you, Ms. Sarassri. Goodbye."

She ended the transmission and walked to the bathroom to brush her teeth. "What kind of crisis could make them so desperate to look for a man who's been gone for a whole decade?" she asked herself. "I wonder what will happen if we don't find him…"

~~

Author: Sorry this was short. I've just written three episodes in one day. You can see why I'm tired. And by this last one, my skills have deteriorated. Now, if only my brother would let me get off the phone… this episode will have been posted the morning after it was written instead of the night before. Don't blame me. Anyway…

Closing Credits:

Special thanks to those who helped me with descriptions:

( Note: these people are VERY cool. Do not mess with them.)

Kestrel

Erin (Hyper Girl to the Rescue)

Sullychkk (Ack! All I remembered was your e-mail! I'M SO SORRY! E-MAIL ME, OKAY?)

And also to the people who volunteered to help with my web page:

FireLily

Jaelawyn Noble 

And if anyone is good with fixing web pages, please e-mail me. My e-mail is listed at top.

AND…

The pages for Character Statistics.

*please note that these end with .htm and not .html due to some mistake upon my computer. I'll correct it someday.

[http://www.geocities.com/silvrblade.geo/silverdragon/fanfics/futurekel.htm][2]

[http://www.geocities.com/silvrblade.geo/silverdragon/fanfics/futurejoren.htm][2]

[http://www.geocities.com/silvrblade.geo/silverdragon/fanfics/futureneal.htm][3]

[http://www.geocities.com/silvrblade.geo/silverdragon/fanfics/futureowen.htm][4]

[http://www.geocities.com/silvrblade.geo/silverdragon/fanfics/futurecleon.htm][5]

And by the way, if Cleon's page pops up before the correct character's does, please ignore. Weird quirk I have to figure out, okay?

   [1]: mailto:silverwLng@aol.com
   [2]: http://www.geocities.com/silvrblade.geo/silverdragon/fanfics/futurekel.htm
   [3]: http://www.geocities.com/silvrblade.geo/silverdragon/fanfics/futureneal.htm
   [4]: http://www.geocities.com/silvrblade.geo/silverdragon/fanfics/futureowen.htm
   [5]: http://www.geocities.com/silvrblade.geo/silverdragon/fanfics/futurecleon.htm



	6. Sleeping On The Job

It Could Be Worse

Episode 6: Sleeping on the Job

By Sulia Serafine

[1-16-01. A Protector of the Small fanfic set in an alternate universe; all credit goes to Tamora Pierce. I'm broke, so you can't sue me.

Oh, one more thing: BAD LANGUAGE (I. E. cursing, swearing…). You have been warned!

I'd also like to thank those who gave me help with the character descriptions. If anyone else want to help me, please e-mail me at [silverwLng@aol.com][1], okay? I'm finally getting around to working on my tiny website, and there's a new section for my Tortall stories. I'll tell you the address when I deem it worthy to be seen by you. Enjoy the chapter, I know you've been waiting for it! Please, tell me what you think. I'd also like to once again thank those who made ALLO a success. This one's for you.

P.S. Something I forgot! This Story takes place in 949 H.E, but it is an ALTERNATE UNIVERSE! AND ANY IMPORTANT CHARACTERS OF THE TAMORA PIERCE UNIVERSE I HAVEN'T PUT IN YET WILL ENTER THE STORY LATER ON, AS MAJOR CHARACTERS, NOT CAMEOS. Thank you and have a nice day.]

Keladry turned off the car and leaned out of the window. Joren rode up to her on his bike. Before he spoke, she gazed wistfully at the black motorcycle, being reminded of her own. She wondered how it was doing in that garage of his friend's. How could she be sure? She'd never been to the place. There was only Joren's word to state its safety. He waved his hand in front of her face. "Mindelan?"

"Huh? Oh, sorry," she ducked back into the car. "Can you tell me why we're at an academy?"

Cleon woke up at the word 'academy'. He rubbed his eyes and clasped her shoulder. "Don't tell me we came home!"

She turned to him. "We didn't. We're at a foreign academy out west. Some cadets can't afford to travel to Tortall. That's why they created Maren Academy." She pointed toward three yellow towers in front of them. "It's almost an exact replica of ours in Tortall." She looked at her partner. "So, why are we here again?"

Joren lifted off his helmet. "While we're in Maren, we can stay at this academy instead of going to a hotel."

"What!" Cleon exclaimed. "I don't want to be staying _here_! Do you know how much of 'going back to school' this reminds me of?" He paused and grinned sheepishly. "Well, we never had yellow towers, but…"

"I don't want to be here either," Joren grouchily agreed. He shrugged. "But it's either this or spend more Nobles on getting three separate hotel rooms again. This academy will house us for free since we're on duty."

Keladry nodded. "I see. Well, I guess we have no choice. Let's get into the garage."

As they parked on the second level, a few cadets ran by with streamers and noisemakers in hand. They waved enthusiastically at the three, then ran on down the garage lanes. Cleon looked like he was about to join them but Keladry grabbed his sleeve. She scratched her head and listened to the noise of academy cadets' get fainter and fainter as they moved farther away.

"What on earth was that?" she whispered.

The other two men shrugged. They got their bags from the trunk of the car and headed to the elevator. Surprisingly, the clear elevator shaft was decorated by stickers and paint, reading, "Congratulations to the Largest Graduating Class of Maren Academy! Go 949 H.E.!"

"Well, I guess that answers our question," Cleon murmured, stepping into the elevator. "It looks like the whole place is celebrating… in its weird little ways."

Keladry yawned. "I could care less. Just give me a nice bed and ten hours and I'll be a happy camper."

"Why are you tired?" the redhead asked, clearly concerned.

"I've been driving this whole time!" Keladry reminded in frustration. "And then there's you." The elevator reached the main floor. They stepped onto the walkway and made their ways toward the Information Desk. 

"And what do you mean, _there's me_?" Cleon called after her as he tried to catch up.

"Nothing," she replied. She greeted the secretary with a semi-friendly, semi-exhausted smile. "Excuse me, but we're from Tortall DJPF on a case out here and we need a place to stay."

The secretary, who was wearing a party hat, smiled happily at her. She was humming a song. "Oh, well of course! Any member of the DJPF is welcome to stay! Here, let me check you in," She scanned each of their wrists, continuing to hum. "Now, just scoot yourselves over to Dormitory Administration on the next floor and they'll assign you your rooms. Have a nice stay, and feel free to join in with the celebrating!"

"Yeah, right," Joren muttered. "Let's go."

As they got into the elevator, they caught glimpses out the windows of the main floor to the courtyard. Everything was decorated. All the benches were painted. There were streamers covering the trees. Crowds of students danced and sang and hugged each other. Others stood up on the tables and waved flags and banners, all bearing the same message that they saw in the garage.

"They're so loud," Keladry said. "How can I sleep?"

"Well, I'm not sleeping," Cleon gazed at the crowd. "There are some pretty hot girls down there. And they're about to graduate." He nudged her with a goofy grin plastered on his face. "What do you think of that blonde one on the table?"

"Not again…"

~~

After getting their room assignments, Cleon promptly joined a mamba line going down the dorm's hall. Confetti was strewn everywhere and a few streamers landed at Keladry's feet. She waved goodbye to the redhead while chuckling at the site. They never partied like this at Tortall. And now she wished they had-- even if she was usually too busy to join in.

She blinked when she realized Joren had disappeared. His room was right next to hers, but no one was inside according to the intercom. She shrugged and went into her room. In one single motion, she threw her bag into the corner and collapsed on the single bed. Its soft covers were heaven. She grabbed a fluffy pillow and snuggled up against it.

"Day, after day of being in that car, this is bliss," she thought and drifted off to sleep. 

"WOO-HOO!" 

She bolted upright. "What the--"

"GRADUATING, GRADUATING!"

"Oh no. They're still here." She covered her head with the pillow, hoping to drown out the sound. Unfortunately, she could still hear the loud sounds. She got up from her bed, grumbling to herself, then found a pair of headphones in a drawer. She put them on and plopped back down onto bed.

"_Everybody mamba!_"

Keladry threw off the headphones. She could still hear them. The female officer sat up in her bed, her elbows on her knees, trying to think of something. She drummed her fingers on her chin, staring at the floor and listening to the noises outside. After a few minutes, she came to one solution.

"I'll search for a quiet place," she confidently said and stood up. Keladry yanked the thin blanket from under the bed covers and bunched in up in her arms. Then she grabbed a pillow and went out the door.

~~

"What are the chances that they'll be in the classrooms?" Keladry asked herself as she opened the door to the only unlocked room. She moved the desks together to form a hard, flat bed three feet off the ground. Then she lied down atop of it. It was tough adjusting to the stiffness, but she put most of herself on top of her large pillow.

Keladry smiled in contentment and closed her eyes. "Finally."

__

Drip. Drop.

She opened one eye and looked around. Then she closed it again.

__

Drip. Drop.

"Oh, this isn't funny…" she groaned.

__

Drip. Drop.

She got off her makeshift bed and looked around the room frantically for a pipe. There had to be a leak somewhere in the room. She turned on the light to the classroom briefly. Finding none, she turned off the light again. Then, she went back to the desks and tried to fall asleep again. Keladry closed her eyes tightly. "Please, please."

Silence.

"Ah…."

__

Drip. Drop.

"This isn't fair."

Keladry hastily got off the desks, moved them back into place, and left the classroom.

~~

As Keladry passed by the courtyard, she spotted Cleon. 

Cleon-- dancing on a table.

Cleon-- dancing on a table with a blonde girl.

Cleon-- dancing on a table with a blonde girl and a painted bucket on his head.

"I don't even want to know," she said to herself and walked past. The crowds of cadets tried to lure her away from her mission of rest. Their loud music and colorful decorations were almost irresistible. A few called out to her to join them, but she politely thanked them and said no. She entered another building, passing the third mamba line she had seen since arriving there.

"Maybe there will be better luck in the library. I hope they don't mind."

~~

"You just go on ahead. I don't mind," the kind librarian told her. She was a woman in her late forties, having gray streaks in dark brown hair and large glasses dominating her petite face. Keladry bowed her head to her. She crept to the back and found an isolated table behind a bookshelf of sciences.

Settling down in one of the large reading chairs, Keladry thought to herself, "I think this may be the place."

As she closed her eyes, memories of her past flooded her. 

__

Back when she was enrolled in her own academy, she spent a lot of time studying in the library. She knew the fastest way to graduate was to ace every single one of her tests and get moved on to advanced classes. Some people spent ten years at the academy. Keladry wouldn't settle for it. Already, her parents had schooled her in the fundamentals as a young child. Now as a teenage cadet, she breezed through almost everything.

"Kel," her sister Adalia called. "Will you get your nose out of those books and come play with us? It's a beautiful day outside and you've finally come home to visit!"

"My fourth advanced placement exam is coming up," Keladry answered the taller girl when she looked up from her textbook. She was sitting in the kitchen of their house. Her parents and her other older siblings were out grocery shopping, so the only people that were in the house were Adalia, her brothers, Conal and Anders, and the rest of her little siblings. It was a large family, and every member had a job except the children and Keladry.

"You're going to grow up too soon rushing like that," Anders warned her as he shut her textbook in one swift motion. "I order you to go outside and fall asleep in the sun."

Kel smiled. "What, so I can get a sunburn?"

"If you don't, I'll play another prank on you," Conal teased, joining in on the fun of persuading her. He ruffled her hair and went out the door to her family's porch. Keladry gazed longingly at her textbook.

"I'd better not. The exam is very important," she said uneasily.

"Oh, fine. Let's go, Anders," Adalia said and tugged her brother out the door. Keladry bit her lip. She got up from her chair. She wanted very badly to be out there in the sunshine. The only sunshine she ever got at the academy was when she jogged around the courtyard for training.

"The sun gives me little freckles that I hate," she reasoned with herself and opened her textbook again, not knowing the real reason she was going back to work.

Keladry picked a random book from its shelf and read the title. "Self Defense." She scratched her head and flipped through it. It looked familiar. She'd probably read that one, too, with all her luck. She placed it back on the shelf. Hugging her pillow, she closed her eyes again and tried to blank her mind. She was so tired. She had to fall asleep. She just had to.

__

Cadet Mindelan, may I see your report on Foreign Governments?

Ah. This is very good. An almost perfect paper! I'll recommend you to the advanced placement teachers, yes?

You're an excellent example of respect and duty, Mindelan. You're excused.

Thank you for doing me that favor. I'll speak highly of you to Administration.

That's the fifth debate you've won, Cadet. Keep it up.

You wouldn't mind staying over the vacation to do this, would you? It may cut up to two weeks off your class work.

Bravo!

Excellent!

That was perfect!

Your technique is solid. I don't think there's much more I could teach you on this level. But, please, Mindelan, develop some variety. Your work in the training center seems to have turned into a recurring pattern. I think maybe, if you just took some time off from this busy schedule of yours and relax a bit, you can improve upon--

Keladry stood up. She couldn't stay in the library. And besides, the sound of the librarian chewing gum was rather loud when compared to her very own breathing or the sounds of the blanket rubbing against her clothing. Once again, she tucked the pillow under her arm and bundled up the sheets. "Time to go somewhere else."

~~

The cafeteria-- she didn't know why she even _bothered_ checking there. Graduating cadets filled the place, drinking soda and socializing. She rubbed her temples in attempt to calm her head and continued on.

The training center-- too many loud mechanical noises of simulators and treadmills. She also couldn't stand the sound of punching bags being used. Not to mention-- the shooting range could faintly be heard from next door.

The Academy's Staff's offices-- too many communications screens, holo-screens, database-screens, and chatting employees to count. She quickly brushed past them and headed out the door.

The infirmary-- coughing people, beeps of various tools hooked up to complicated looking machines. The resident nurse apologized sincerely to Kel. Usually, patients were allowed peace and quiet, but most of the patients had their holo-screens on listening to the music channels or the news reports. Some cadets even visited the ill and injured, taking their noisemakers and party hats with them.

"Perhaps you can drop by in an hour? Maybe it'll quiet down before then," the nurse offered while walking Keladry to the exit.

"No, that's all right." She glanced at her pager. "It's already ten o' clock? It's ten o'clock at night? How long have I been wandering around?" She yawned. "I really need to find a place to sleep."

"Perhaps you can try the garage," the nurse suggested. "You have a car parked there, yes?"

Keladry blinked. "After all that time in the car-- the source of my exhaustion-- it may be my only refuge?"

"Well, it can't hurt to try."

She nodded. "Thanks. I think I'm desperate enough to go and test it."

~~

She took the paint-splattered elevator down to the garage. She stepped off, nervously holding the pillow tighter as she walked down the lane trying to find the silver hover-car. When she arrived, another unfamiliar sight greeted her.

Joren polished his bike from where it was parked next to the car. He had changed out of uniform and now donned a dark red pair of coveralls that were covered with grease stains and dirt. He wiped his forehead, pushing his light blonde hair out of his eyes and resumed polishing the remodeled Black Knight.

"What do you want?" he asked without turning around.

She snapped back into reality. "Uh, I wanted to sleep in the back of the car," she answered. "The whole academy is filled with noise. I can't get any sleep. Do you mind?"

He looked over his shoulder to glance at her. "Do whatever you want. I don't care."

"Thanks," she said quietly and opened one of the four car doors. She slid into the back seat and rolled the window down to circulate air. She reminded herself to thank Cleon later. He had picked a very comfortable car. She settled her pillow and blanket down they lied down herself. All the while, Joren continued to polish his bike.

A few minutes later, Keladry found she could not sleep. It was quiet. Joren didn't make a sound-- not that he did it on purpose so she could sleep. He was only polishing. But the silence seemed to unnerve her. So, the Tortallian officer sat up and leaned with her elbows out the window. "What are you doing, Stone?"

He looked up at her with a blank expression. It was better than cold. "I'm just checking everything. The maintenance for this baby is tough. It's a classic."

She nodded. "So I see." She gazed fondly at it. "It's a real beauty though. You did a good job."

He stared at her for a short moment, then went back to checking the fuel gages. He didn't even acknowledge her compliment. That was Joren, though. She wouldn't expect anything out of him. Not that she cared.

"Did you remodel this yourself?" Keladry asked, trying to create conversation. If she had to be stuck awake, at least she was going to make something of her time-- even with the rudest man in the world.

"Maybe," Joren answered evasively.

"Neal and Owen told me you had this back when you attended the academy. You've had her for this long?"

He shrugged.

She frowned and sat back against her pillow. 

"I thought you were going to sleep," he said minutes later. She turned to him, startled by the sudden stream of words.

"Uh, yeah. I guess. I really need to."

"Well, then, do it. You're sure as hell not sleeping tomorrow in the car and Cleon is _not_ driving." His brow was furrowed in concentration as he tried to spot something hanging off the underside of his handlebars. He patted the compartments directly under the mini-database installed in his bike. 

"What's in there?" she wondered. 

"Are you going to sleep or not, Mindelan?"

She folded her arms. "Okay, okay. Back off. I'll sleep."

And surprisingly, she did.

~~

Author: So… very… tired… ugh. I think I'm just going to post this and sleep off two days before writing the next one. That is, unless I get a lot of reviews…You see, I won't be writing from Friday to Saturday because I'll be gone on a small fundraising trip. (Darn my generous spirit…) So, please, tell me what you think before then so I can write!

Closing Credits:

Special thanks to those who helped me with descriptions:

( Note: these people are VERY cool. Do not mess with them.)

Kestrel

Erin (Hyper Girl to the Rescue)

Sullychkk (Whose name is Caitie…)

And also to the people who volunteered to help with my web page:

FireLily

Jaelawyn Noble 

And if anyone is good with fixing web pages, please e-mail me. My e-mail is listed at top.

AND…

The pages for Character Statistics.

*please note that these end with .htm and not .html due to some mistake upon my computer. I'll correct it someday.

[http://www.geocities.com/silvrblade.geo/silverdragon/fanfics/futurekel.htm][2]

[http://www.geocities.com/silvrblade.geo/silverdragon/fanfics/futurejoren.htm][2]

[http://www.geocities.com/silvrblade.geo/silverdragon/fanfics/futureneal.htm][3]

[http://www.geocities.com/silvrblade.geo/silverdragon/fanfics/futureowen.htm][4]

[http://www.geocities.com/silvrblade.geo/silverdragon/fanfics/futurecleon.htm][5]

And by the way, if Cleon's page pops up before the correct character's does, please ignore. Weird quirk I have to figure out, okay?

   [1]: mailto:silverwLng@aol.com
   [2]: http://www.geocities.com/silvrblade.geo/silverdragon/fanfics/futurekel.htm
   [3]: http://www.geocities.com/silvrblade.geo/silverdragon/fanfics/futureneal.htm
   [4]: http://www.geocities.com/silvrblade.geo/silverdragon/fanfics/futureowen.htm
   [5]: http://www.geocities.com/silvrblade.geo/silverdragon/fanfics/futurecleon.htm



	7. Stop, Thief!

It Could Be Worse

Episode 7: Stop, Thief!

By Sulia Serafine

[1-17-01. A Protector of the Small fanfic set in an alternate universe; all credit goes to Tamora Pierce. I'm broke, so you can't sue me.

Oh, one more thing: BAD LANGUAGE (I. E. cursing, swearing…). You have been warned!

I'd also like to thank those who gave me help with the character descriptions. If anyone else want to help me, please e-mail me at [silverwLng@aol.com][1], okay? I'm finally getting around to working on my tiny website, and there's a new section for my Tortall stories. I'll tell you the address when I deem it worthy to be seen by you. Enjoy the chapter, I know you've been waiting for it! Please, tell me what you think. I'd also like to once again thank those who made ALLO a success. This one's for you.

P.S. Something I forgot! This Story takes place in 949 H.E, but it is an ALTERNATE UNIVERSE! AND ANY IMPORTANT CHARACTERS OF THE TAMORA PIERCE UNIVERSE I HAVEN'T PUT IN YET WILL ENTER THE STORY LATER ON, AS MAJOR CHARACTERS, NOT CAMEOS. Thank you and have a nice day.]

"Well," Keladry leaned back in the driver's seat. "Maren was no good. Where to next?"

Cleon scanned the navigational screen in between them. He traced a route with his finger. "It looks like a place called Rogue Bay." He leaned his head out the window and called over to Joren. "Hey! How does Rogue Bay sound to you?"

"I know that place," Joren said as he walked up. "I'd rather not go there, but if we have to, we have to. Although we'll end up regretting it."

Keladry started the car. "Okay, then. Rogue Bay, here we come."

~~

Rogue Bay was a village in the sense of how it looked from the outside. In reality, it was as large as a city. The rural town overlooked a large bay, obviously named Rogue Bay. The water shimmered in the setting sun as the large white sails of old fashioned boats pulled into dock. The town based its economy on the sea. It was the most common transportation out of the town. Every other man worked on the docks, or was a sailor. Keladry awed at the magnificent boats with their shining metal hulls and their scrubbed bodies. The old fashioned boats made her smile. Anything that large that was constructed out of wood was rare, and Rogue Bay had plenty of them.

The streets were maintained as they were two centuries ago, paved in varying shades of brown cobblestones. All the buildings were ancient in their structure. Wooden signs with painted words on them, accompanied sometimes by a simple explaining picture. The glass windows were actually opened by latches and covered by shutters.

"Colonial," Keladry whispered, reminded of her history class. But something was wrong. There was a touch of modern day technology, for the windows were covered with an extra layer of synthetic sensors from the inside. This way, no one could break in. She stood back from the store window she was examining and rejoined the group.

"This place is beautiful," she told her two partners. "Look at that sky. This air is so fresh. It's like stepping back into the past if you ignore the modern flaws. It's like in colonial times or at least the century after that. Don't you think?"

Cleon folded his hands behind his head as they walked. "I don't know." His face lit up. "If there's one thing I remember in history class, the colonial period had the best ale in the history of the world!" He nudged Joren. "What do you say we find a tavern--"

"Hey," Keladry tapped him on the shoulder. "We're on duty, if you care to remember."

"Let's just get this over with," Joren said, bored. He looked over his shoulder. "I don't want to leave my bike at the inn for long."

"Well, I left my guns there," Cleon shrugged. 

"Then you're stupid."

"Hey!"

"Don't leave weapons unattended," Joren scolded. "That takes a few marks on your field probation."

Keladry glared at the blonde. "Give him a break, Stone. Nothing will happen. So let's go to the city hall before it closes down for the night. Maybe we're lucky and some strange inventor will have moved into the city within the last decade."

Cleon turned his head this way and that, looking at every single building within sight. "I don't think so. Thom Trebond would be in a modern city, not this sea port."

"I don't think so," Keladry said. "If I were him, I would hide in the least likely place I would be found."

While Cleon and Keladry argued, they continued to stroll down the narrow street until they came to bus stop. The city was in fact, huge, and they could not walk all the way to the city all even if they wanted to. Not without making it to the place at midnight, anyway.

The bus came five minutes later, a ground vehicle that had polished wooden benches and brass poles. Keladry leaned down and examined the quality of the wood. It was very good. She imagined it cost a lot to have an antique running as a public service. The bus driver was a kindly old man with large white eyebrows and jowls like a bulldog. He wore a blue uniform and a shiny pin in the shape of the bus.

"Is the city hall open still, sir?" Keladry asked.

"Yes, I believe it is," the bus driver replied. "Are you tourists?"

Keladry looked down at herself. They were wearing civilian clothes once again, so not to frighten anyone away with their imposing uniforms. "Um, you could say that. We're looking for someone."

"Ah! Well, I hope you find whoever it is you're looking for," he said. He looked at them using his mirror. "Just be sure not to run into the Street Pirates."

"The what?" Cleon asked with wide eyes. "Street Pirates?"

"I warned you guys," Joren said with a smug look on his face. He sat back. "I think we can avoid them as long as we stay in low profile."

"What if they steal my guns?" the other man gasped in horror. "That would be terrible! I mean, just think of it. Some low-life thief with _my_ guns! Guns with bullets specially marked to belong to the DJPF. If they used those weapons to do their dirty work, then… then…"

Keladry raised one eyebrow. "Uh, you'd better relax. You're going to start hyperventilating any second now."

"Too… late…"

"Oh, brother."

~~

By showing their unmistakable personal IDs, they were granted access to the city's confidential files. The three officers sat in the old filing room, searching databases and manually kept papers. Keladry stacked manila folders full of profiles for generally richer men in the city who had an affinity for technology, unlike the rest of the seemingly sleepy town.

"Paper," Cleon wrinkled his nose. "They have their files in paper." He spun around in his chair and looked over Joren's shoulder. "Did you find anything yet?"

"No."

"I don't see anything here either," Keladry announced and dropped the last folder on the oak table in front of her. "I suggest we go back to the inn and get some sleep." She looked at her pager. "It's 1:14 AM."

Joren shut down the computer search database. "Let's go."

Since it was past midnight, the three got a lift from the security guard that was switching shifts with another guard arriving at the building. The tall guard drove an old pick-up truck with a scratched and chipped blue paint job. Since it was so old, it went very slow and they reached their inn thirty-five minutes from when they left.

"Thank you," Cleon and Keladry chorused as the security guard pulled away, saluting them as he went.

"Who has the keys?" Joren asked with an irritated-from-lack-of-sleep expression. They had rented the room right next to the mini-garage in the inn since he insisted to be near the bike. 

"I have them," Keladry yawned. She tossed the other two sets of keys that weren't hers to the other two men. As they neared their rooms, they went their separate ways. Keladry fiddled with the keys to her room, Cleon marched straight in, and Joren headed to the garage to check on his bike.

Keladry swung the door open and back kicked it closed. Then she stretched her arms over her head and flung off her jeans-jacket. It was cold at night in the port-town. It didn't surprise her since the wind blew chilly across the waters. Just as she reclined on the bed with her shoes still on, there was a loud shout that disrupted her pleasant state of mind.

"THEY STOLE MY BIKE!"

She could have jumped three feet up into the air from the shock it gave her. Keladry darted to the door and ran from there to the garage. Cleon was right behind her as they jumped the gate to the garage. And there, in the dim light, Joren was furiously pacing the spot where his bike had been. Only his helmet remained. 

"Those _bastards_!" he yelled. He saw his two partners enter and pointed frantically to the helmet on the ground. "Look! _Look_!"

"We're looking!" Keladry exclaimed irritably. "Calm down, Stone. We'll get to the bottom of this."

He stared at her incredulously. "Oh please! Everyone knows there are only one group of thieves in this town, and those would be the Street Pirates." He grabbed fistfuls of his pale hair and stifled more cries of anger. "I… I can't believe this! They stole my bike!" He pointed to the helmet some more. "My… my beautiful bike. After all this time-- just gone, gone like _that_." He snapped his fingers. Then he cracked his knuckles. "Okay, okay. Now, it's _personal_."

While he continued to rant and rave unceremoniously, Cleon opened the trunk of their car and paled. He leaned down for a few seconds. Keladry couldn't see past Joren's pacing figure.

"I just spent 50 Nobles on her the other day! I was even thinking of putting a new fire design on the sides--"

"THEY STOLE MY GUNS!"

"Well, they stole _my_ bike!" Joren snorted, thinking he had the worse situation.

"No, no. My guns-- oh, God, I'm going to get discharged from DJPF before I've even gotten off probation!" Cleon cried.

"Those _bastards_!" the two men screamed at the same time.

"Son of a bitch, what are we going to do?" Cleon fell to his knees, clutching the black bag where he had hid his numerous guns.

"Damn it, I don't know!" Joren said. He shook his fist. "But they are going to pay, oh yes, they are going to pay…"

Keladry shook her head. She couldn't stand much more profanity. Not to mention-- the innkeeper was probably going to throw them out since they were so loud. She quietly slipped out unnoticed and went back to her room. She agreed with them. They had to do something about it. But ranting and raving mindlessly wasn't going to do anything. She had to get on the search for the Street Pirates' hideout.

Back in the garage, Cleon and Joren sat on the ground facing each other. They had temporarily forgotten their dislike for each other. With flecks of insanity in their eyes, they eagerly began to map out a plan to get their prized possessions back. Just as Cleon started to make of list of ways to torture the thieves, they heard a scream.

"That's Keladry!" Cleon gasped. The two men sprung to their feet and raced over to their partner's room. The door was wide open, and there she was, holding one of her duffel bags open, gasping.

She looked up when they came in and pointed angrily to the bag. For a few moments, she was speechless-- closing and opening her mouth with no sounds coming out. Finally, she found her voice and uncharacteristically shrieked:

"THOSE PERVERTS STOLE MY UNDERWEAR!"

Utter silence.

Cleon started to tilt his head back in fear that he would contract a nosebleed. His face was already red from yelling, but turned even a deeper shade of red at the awkward subject. Joren, however, showed no real change except that his expression was frozen where it had been before, furious and belligerent.

Keladry wrung her hands in embarrassment. "I… I can't believe they took…all of it."

"Uh…" Cleon started nervously. "I definitely think we have reason to drop everything we're doing and go after the Street Pirates now."

"Stop tilting your head back," she ordered with a faint blush. She knew why he was tilting back.

"I'd really rather not," he laughed nervously. "I'll just pinch it for a few minutes, 'kay?"

~~

A young man, around the age of 23, with dark hair and a dashing sort of appearance, whistled in content. His warm brown eyes examined and re-examined the guns he and his friends had swiped. 

"Well, look at this!" he grinned, tossing the gun from hand to hand. He expertly holstered it and drew it again like a quickdraw in the ancient movies he saw once. He chuckled and put it away, taking inventory on the rest of the stolen possessions. A few other men were seated around him. Smoke wafted up from eastern cigarettes. The warehouse was lit by one old-fashioned light bulb hanging on a thin chain from the relatively low ceiling. The other lights were off since they did not want to attract attention from outside. Crates and forklifts lined the walls of the warehouse and other tables and chalkboards occupied the space in the center.

"That's mighty fine," another older man commented. He was in his early thirties with a scar over his left eye and a cigarette hanging out the edge of his mouth. "Why don't you put your new toys away and come join in. We need a forth for poker."

"Not yet," the young man said gleefully and walked over to the Black Knight Custom X40. He ran one finger over the polished bike and held it up to the light. "Perfect. Not one speck of dust or dirt." Then he saddled it, getting a feel for the handlebars and the windshield. "This baby is unbelievable."

"Should we leave the two of you alone?" another man called out. Laughter echoed around.

The young man shrugged. "Well, hey, Morrison, this bike is worth more than…" he gave his friend a quick once over. "Well, more than your life!"

"Aww, yeah right!"

"No, I'm serious," the young man said and got off. "This is better than a Black Knight Custom. I mean, someone actually took the time to restore it to the very smallest detail and then improved upon it. Look at this engine for crying out loud!"

The man with the scar coughed before speaking. "Since when did you know all that grease monkey stuff?"

"Hey," the younger protested. "I don't. I just looked it up when I got back. And by the way," he glared at him. "It is _not_ grease monkey stuff."

"Sure it isn't."

He then walked back over to the last of his new objects. He tossed a plastic bag full of women's undergarments onto the poker table, lifting a bra up to the light to demonstrate. "Let's move on to other matters, gentlemen. Now, I actually prefer women with," he paused, "_lacy_ tastes if you know what I mean, but I guess this is nice enough."

"What color lace?" a man asked while shuffling cards and eyeing another bra in the bag.

"White."

"Oh, no, sonny. You're too young for this. Black is the only way to go."

"Right… I guess I should bow down to those with experience," he nodded. "Or lack thereof."

"Hey!"

"I'm joking!" He stroked his chin. "But I tell you what. What the girl lacks in taste, she makes up for in size. A nice C cup, don't you think?" He turned to the older men.

"No, no. That looks like a 38B. Trust me," the man called Morrison winked. "I should know!"

"Screw it!" the man with the scar lewdly laughed. "I want some double-D's!"

The rest of the men burst into raucous laughter. The young man took a seat. "I didn't know you were into altered physical appearances, Wilson."

The man named Wilson shrugged. "Not all of them are _altered_, but who cares if they are? They fit, and that's _all_ that matters. Maybe if you're good and some kind girl pities you, you'll know what it's like, Faleron!" 

They started laughing again. Faleron propped his feet up on the table. "Ha-ha. That's very funny, Wilson. Now let's get this game started, huh?"

They put the undergarments back in the bag and tossed it towards the bike.

~~

"Where the hell do I find them?" Joren demanded more than asked the bartender as he held him violently by his collar. 

"Stop that! You're going to give him a heart attack!" Keladry scolded. She grabbed her partners arm and tugged him away from the aged man with the black handlebar mustache. He nervously moved away from the two officers, only to bump into Cleon who blocked his exit like a stone wall.

The man looked back and forth between the two sides. "I… I can't tell you anything. I don't want to get robbed!"

Keladry glared at Joren defiantly, coming between him and the bartender. She looked to the man sympathetically. "Don't worry, sir. We're with the DJPF."

He observed her clothing. "You don't look like it."

"Here, look at my ID," Keladry offered. "No one can fake our IDs."

"Okay, okay. I'll help you." The bartender glanced around to see if anyone was listening in on them. Then he licked his lips anxiously and whispered, "The East District is where their hideout is. That's all I know."

"Really?" Joren asked, clenching and unclenching his hands.

Panicked beyond control, the bartender hastily added. "They like to play poker right after a job. Don't ask me how I know! You'll just be able to get the jump on them before they reach their guns is all!"

"We appreciate your cooperation," Keladry said, patting him on the shoulder. Cleon and Joren, still seething with hatred for the thieves, walked out without a word. She rolled her eyes and followed them. Just as she reached the door, she tossed two Nobles at the bartender and then left.

The three officers drove down to the East District, parking in a secluded spot. From there, they took what weapons they had and proceeded to the supposedly empty buildings one by one.

"Is there any sort of plan at all?" Keladry asked.

"No," Joren replied. 

"Just bust in there and see what happens," Cleon nodded.

She blinked. "That's it?"

"Pretty much," they both answered in unison.

~~

Faleron was losing-- by a lot. He realized he didn't have any money left, but no one had to know that. Now, if he could just make this next one with his hand-- he had a Straight-- he could possibly get by. By most standards, he had a pretty good poker face. As for being a good poker player, well that was something undecided.

"I fold," he heard Morrison say. Now it was his turn…

There were too gunshots from behind. They hit the crates beside the table. The thieves leapt up from their chairs, reaching for their guns when a voice from the shadows called out.

"Don't move or I swear I'll empty three clips into each of you."

"You can't do that!"

"Yes, I can. They stole my bike. And your guns, dolt."

"But _I_ want to shoot them!"

"Neither of you can!" a feminine voice broke into the conversation. Faleron squinted. HE couldn't see the owners of the voices, but he desperately wanted to find out. He moved an inch forward and--

"Freeze, pal. Stay right there with your hands up! All of you! We're busting you for grand theft." A man Faleron's age stepped out of the shadow with a Desert Eagle in each hand. A redhead joined him, holding another gun, and the female was left with an energy glaive. They all wore the field uniforms of DJPF. 

"Look at all this stuff!" The redhead exclaimed. "I can't believe they've gotten away with it for so long. And it was so easy to find them!"

"Calm down, rookie," the blonde man ordered. "Keep your eye trained on each one of these thieves."

"Oh, shit," Wilson muttered. "We're in for it now."

Morrison sneered. "Someone in Rogue Bay squealed on us. We ought to take care of that."

Faleron nodded. "But we got to take care of these goody-two shoes first." He smiled sweetly at Keladry. "Excuse me, Miss? But why has the DJPF suddenly chosen _now_ to bust us? The DJPF never cared before…"

"Well, you stole my damn bike," Joren spat. "And that's cause enough for me to kill you, regardless of my being under the duties of DJPF." He took a step forward and said in a very calm voice, "If you scratched her, I'm going to rip your head off."

"Stone!" Keladry warned.

"Oh, come on," Cleon whined. "Don't tell me you're not furious with them. They stole your…your underwear!"

Faleron turned his head slightly to the card dealer. "You were right. C cup."

Keladry visibly blushed and awkwardly closed her arms in over her chest while holding the energy glaive.

"Cuff them," Joren ordered. Cleon holstered his gun and took out some cuffs. He approached Faleron first.

Faleron's mind was going a mile a minute. He was known for his great reaction time. He could calculate the possibilities of almost any situation within a split second and respond accordingly. It usually got him out of trouble. Now was the time to test this skill again. He quickly assessed that with the redhead going to cuff him, that left the blonde guy with the two guns, and the girl with the energy glaive. Energy glaives worked best when in range. So, therefore, he would make sure to be out of range. And the blonde obviously couldn't shoot his partner. Therefore, Cleon was now going to be Faleron's new shield.

As Cleon neared, seemingly unaware of Faleron's motives, the expert thief darted forward within the blink of an eye and grabbed Cleon's gun. Then he kneed the redhead in the stomach and turned him around to act as his shield. He pressed the barrel of the gun against his hostage's temples. 

"Back off!" he warned the remaining too officers, now overcome with surprise at what had just happened. The male officer seemed a bit calmer, as if he'd been in the situation before. The thief made a mental note to watch out for him.

"Faleron! Careful, man!" one of his friends said and drew their guns. 

"Drop it, officers," Faleron ordered. Keladry immediately collapsed her energy glaive and set it on the ground slowly. Joren stared at him for a few seconds with a scowl on his face, then also bent over to set his down. As he was doing this, Faleron and his friends started to back away, Cleon still being held hostage.

"I can't believe this!" Cleon cried.

"Shut up!" Faleron pressed the gun barrel even harder to his head. He looked over to Joren. "What's taking you so long, huh? Set the gun down!" The sweat was now building on his body. This was too much for a guy who just wanted to play some poker on a Monday night-- even if he had a cool, calculating mind. Nothing could really much handle fear and anxiety.

And then, it went dark.

All within five seconds, Joren jerked his hand just as the gun touched the floor. The light above them was shot out in a burst of sparks, plunging them into darkness. Shots went off. Screams of wounded men were heard. There was a scuffle as they bumped into chairs, tables, and each other. 

A streak of light through the shadows-- Keladry's energy glaive. She launched herself forward, first wrenching Cleon from Faleron and blinding the thief with her glaive's bright light. Then she swung it around and caught his companions by surprise.

"Ah!" a man screamed as he got burned in the shoulder by the strange weapon. He fell out of the small range of light to the floor and lay there moaning. Joren took this time to knock those men out that Keladry encountered with her lit pole arm. Cleon cursed endlessly, complaining about his headache and wrestling with the youngest thief. The gun was grappled for, then tossed away by a swift uppercut.

"You're going to pay for that!"

"Dream on, man!" Faleron kneed him in the stomach for the second time, then threw a swift punch to Cleon's lower jaw. The fist connected and Cleon was knocked away. He jumped away and rolled across the ground. Then he remained still.

In the pitch-black warehouse, Keladry was the only person with any source of light. Unfortunately, the energy glaive was not meant for illumination, and only went out a foot in range. Cleon, Joren, and Faleron-- the only others left conscious, were frozen where they were. They could not see. Only hear and feel. 

Each man tried to listen to his own breathing, tried to slow his pounding heart to no avail. Faleron gulped. Then…

__

Click.

The light came back on when Keladry had found another light bulb and yanked the chain to turn it on. She collapsed her energy glaive and put it back on her belt. Then she retrieved the nine-millimeter she had loaned Cleon and rose to meet the new situation.

Joren stood with both guns aimed at the unconscious thieves. He wouldn't take any chances. Jerked his head toward the overturned table and then to his bike. "Go secure our stuff, would you?"

She nodded and jogged to the black motorcycle. "She's fine, Stone. No damage done."

He only nodded.

"You know, he could have shot Cleon when you went for the light bulb back there," she told him.

"Oh well. A necessary risk."

"Right…"

Faleron licked his chapped lips, wiping the sweat off his brow and standing calmly in front of Cleon. He crossed his eyes slightly to look at the gun barrel pressed to his forehead. He smiled and said in a very unfazed voice. "So! I see you have your guns back…"

~~

Author: Well, you demanded it, so here it is. A special note to Angel Sakura: I've been putting off finishing FF8 to write this, and it is one of the many, _many_ things that inspired the series. If someone wants to get picky (I'm not talking about you of course) than here's a disclaimer: FF8 belongs to Squaresoft, not mine, etc. too bad because I _love_ Seifer's Hyperion symbol… and the gunblade, too.

Closing Credits:

Special thanks to those who helped me with descriptions:

(Note: these people are VERY cool. Do not mess with them.)

Kestrel

Erin (Hyper Girl to the Rescue)

Sullychkk (Whose name is Caitie…)

And also to the people who volunteered to help with my web page:

FireLily

Jaelawyn Noble 

And if anyone is good with fixing web pages, please e-mail me. My e-mail is listed at top.

AND…

The pages for Character Statistics.

*Please note that these end with .htm and not .html due to some mistake upon my computer. I'll correct it someday.

[http://www.geocities.com/silvrblade.geo/silverdragon/fanfics/futurekel.htm][2]

[http://www.geocities.com/silvrblade.geo/silverdragon/fanfics/futurejoren.htm][2]

[http://www.geocities.com/silvrblade.geo/silverdragon/fanfics/futureneal.htm][3]

[http://www.geocities.com/silvrblade.geo/silverdragon/fanfics/futureowen.htm][4]

[http://www.geocities.com/silvrblade.geo/silverdragon/fanfics/futurecleon.htm][5]

And by the way, if Cleon's page pops up before the correct character's does, please ignore. Weird quirk I have to figure out, okay?

   [1]: mailto:silverwLng@aol.com
   [2]: http://www.geocities.com/silvrblade.geo/silverdragon/fanfics/futurekel.htm
   [3]: http://www.geocities.com/silvrblade.geo/silverdragon/fanfics/futureneal.htm
   [4]: http://www.geocities.com/silvrblade.geo/silverdragon/fanfics/futureowen.htm
   [5]: http://www.geocities.com/silvrblade.geo/silverdragon/fanfics/futurecleon.htm



	8. Now What?

It Could Be Worse

Episode 8: Now, What?

By Sulia Serafine

[1-19-01. A Protector of the Small fanfic set in an alternate universe; all credit goes to Tamora Pierce. I'm broke, so you can't sue me.

Oh, one more thing: BAD LANGUAGE (I. E. cursing, swearing…). You have been warned!

E-mail me at [silverwLng@aol.com][1], okay? Thank you and have a nice day.]

"Neal, stop laughing."

"I…I-- haha-- can't help it!"

"It's not funny."

"I know, I know. I'm sorry, but Heaven help me, I wish I was there to see your face when--"

"Neal!" Keladry blushed furiously. Thank Heaven that she could only talk to Neal and not see him. He would probably laugh harder if he saw her face. "Stop it, I'm serious!"

"I don't think I can stop," he laughed. "I'll call you later when I'm better again. Hehe… Sorry, Kel."

"Whatever," she replied grouchily, reminding herself of her blonde partner. "Bye."

She ended the transmission and walked back over to where Joren and Cleon had the Street Pirates tied up. The redhead's fingers twitched from where they rested on the triggers. She didn't like the nearly psychotic twinkle in the redhead's eyes. A muscle in his cheek clenched for a moment, then relaxed. Concerned, she tapped his shoulder gently and said softly, "Cleon?"

"Can I shoot them now?" he asked within a heartbeat. He didn't take his eyes off the gang leader's sly smirk.

"Hey, now--"

He sighed with bitter disappointment. "I know. I can't. But… it doesn't hurt to dream, right?"

She gave him a stern look and he cringed. 

"Just joking! Come on, this is _me_ we're talking about! Nothing can get me down for long," he nervously said while forcing himself to laugh. A snort was heard from the other direction. Joren stood a few feet away from them, accessing the directory for Rogue Bay. He returned his focus back to his wristband. The special operative started speaking in low tones into the wristband. His brow creased from his expression of concentration and bewilderment. After a few minutes, he walked back to the group. He scratched his head and frowned. "There isn't any local jail in Rogue Bay?"

Faleron spoke from where he was cuffed and sitting on the floor. "No, sir. So sorry to upset you."

"Oh, shut up, you," Cleon commanded. "Or else I'll--"

"Do nothing of the sort," Keladry interrupted. She turned to the blonde. "What's this about no jail?"

"Rogue Bay doesn't have criminals. Well, beside us," Morrison grinned. "And they've _never_ caught us. I mean, when you spend a couple of years trying to bring down the best thieves in the world, you sort of give up after a while."

She glared at them. "Well, I guess that's why _we_ caught you. Your arrogance led to your carelessness, leading to our triumph."

"Blah, blah, blah," Faleron murmured to himself. He addressed Cleon. "Is she always this self-righteous?"

"More than usual," he replied. "Must be the um, belongings you stole from her."

"Hey!"

"Sorry."

Joren stopped their argument. "Hey, quit talking. Since there is no law enforcement in this colonial wannabe place, then I'll just contact Headquarters and hear what they have to say." He dialed up the number to Tortall's DJPF and waited for an answer. While he was contacting them, Faleron continued to talk on behalf of his gang members without any indication of fear for the two officers. 

"I must apologize about your clothing," Faleron told Keladry. "It was actually Wilson's suggestion."

Wilson made a face at the younger man, but did not make any denies. He sheepishly grinned. She inwardly shuddered. 

"What about my guns?" Cleon snorted.

The young man chuckled light-heartedly. "I'd be lying if I said I intended to return them. Nice merchandise, my good man. I applaud you on your tastes." He paused. "You must be a good shot, hmm?"

The two officers exchanged confused glances. Since when were thieves so well spoken and confident like this? Keladry didn't know what to make of it. If she had met the thief on the street, she would have thought him to be a clever businessman. His eyes radiated kindness, but there was something in their depths-- something hypnotizing. The straight angled face was framed with soft dark hair that fell across his forehead when he leaned down. His thin lips were oddly curved into a smirk. 

"He has charisma," she finally thought. "That's what it is. It's not pride or arrogance. His confidence takes its shape in charisma."

Faleron lifted one eyebrow. "Do you find something interesting, Officer?"

"What's a guy like you doing as a thief?" she blurted. The rest of the Street Pirates started to laugh. Cleon tightened his grip on his guns and Joren shot them a menacing look from the corner as he conversed with Headquarters.

Wilson, the man with the scar, fiddled with his cuffs while he talked. He jerked a thumb toward Faleron. "Our buddy boy here was in the good life up until his father made a bad move and gambled away the family's fortune. Good thing for Fal, he had the idea to take off on his own and scrape together the Street Pirates."

"He _tried_ anyway!" the card dealer laughed. Faleron gave a little bow.

"Please don't judge me on that though," the young man said. "My sharp mind was born for better things." He chuckled. "I've actually started to enjoy this life."

Awed and angry at his overwhelming sense of command and control, Keladry opened her mouth to speak, but Joren walked up to them. He called their attention. "I've talked with the commissioner in person since he was so interested in Officer Kennan's progress. We abort the mission to find our Mr. Trebond and head home with these four thieves in tow." His face was shadowed by his next sentence. "After that, we will be off duty until Commissioner Wyldon deems our failures worthy of forgiveness."

"What!" Cleon shouted. "That's not fair!"

"You're still on probation," Joren reminded. "Be thankful he didn't throw you into apprenticeship, rookie."

"Humph."

~~

They stayed in Rogue Bay for one last night. Each officer took shifts for guarding the band of thieves and then returning the stolen goods from the warehouse. It was two hours past midnight when Keladry woke up to take over for Cleon. She entered the room where the four were still restrained. Cleon yawned. He was sitting on a chair that he tilted on its back legs by pushing off the wall. 

"You know, you could fall."

"Aww, no I won't."

Faleron stomped on the old floor, causing it to shake. Before he knew it, Cleon was tipping backwards, falling out of his chair. He landed with a thud. "Ow! Hey, you--"

"Cleon, go to sleep," Keladry said and helped him off the floor. After that, she gently pushed him along by the shoulders until he was out the door. The four thieves snickered to themselves. Keladry glared at them, righted the fallen chair, and sat down.

She paid special attention to their young leader. He smiled back at her innocently. She never knew she could come to dislike anyone as fast as she disliked him. Well, the exception was Joren, but that was under complete different circumstances. It wasn't that Faleron had done initially so much to annoy her-- as in stealing some of her more personal items. It was his apparently inborn sense of calmness that she disliked.

All right, she admitted it. She was jealous. Keladry only wished she possessed the attitude he had. She was often non-expressional, and sometimes lecturing, but she didn't have the leadership skills for others to follow her. Faleron did.

"My, my, Officer. You've been staring at me for some time now," the man in question remarked. He narrowed his eyes, but did not cease his smile. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you were feeling some strong resentment towards me, yes?"

She blinked, snapping out of her thoughts. "No. Not any more resentment than I have for anyone else who has broken the law."

He nodded slowly. The way he looked at her showed that he had some of his own curious thoughts. 

"Well, then, if that's the case, Officer, I believe the latter of us dirty rotten scoundrels will get some sleep before we're dragged away to a life time behind bars." And with that, he stretched out on the floor with his uncomfortably cuffed wrists behind his head. The other three followed his example albeit a little reluctantly. Keladry supposed that even they had a difficult time figuring out their leader's motives.

There was silence. Keladry sat in the wooden chair, bored out of her mind. It truly seemed that the four men were asleep. 

"What am I worrying about?" she asked herself. "Nothing could possibly happen. But I have to stay awake for just one more hour." Even with the incentive of sleep, Keladry could not help herself. After a couple of minutes, her eyelids started to droop. She shook her head, trying to keep her eyes open. But once again, her eyes closed. Her chin rested on her chest.

And just her luck, she had another bitter dream.

__

"You know, you're kind of cute."

"Can I at least know your name?"

"Keladry. It's nice to meet you. My name is…"

"So, you're already a senior cadet? That's quite an accomplishment."

"Me? Oh, I'm about a year behind you. Kind of makes me want to work harder-- not that I won't. I'll work very hard."

"It's nice of you to say that. But I think I'll just go at my own pace. Say, why don't I treat you to lunch? A girl like you needs the reward! Aww, come on. What do you say?"

"Oh. I see. Well, maybe I'll see you around, huh? Bye!"

…

"Oh, hi! I thought that was you when I walked by. Listen, are you doing anything tonight? Would you like to go out with me?"

"Oh. Busy. Oh, sure. It's okay. I'll just catch you later. Bye."

…

"Now, you know you owe me a date. I'm not trying to sound bossy or anything, but I just want to let you know that I'd really like a chance. How many times have you been…'busy'?"

"No, no, I'm not getting angry. I'm just worried that you're taking all of this too fast. People need to enjoy their youth."

"So you will?"

"Really?"

"Great! I'll see you tonight!"

…

"Oh, hey, Kel. I hope you don't mind me calling you that."

"Well, you can call me by my nickname, too. Are you excited about tonight? It's going to be quite a party."

"What? You… you can't go?"

"Oh, yeah. I understand. I'll, um, see you."

…

"Hey, Kel."

"No, I'm not here to try and convince you to go out with me."

"No, wait, Kel. Can I say something first? Well, I just want to let you know that… Oh God this is hard for me to say. To put it bluntly, I'm not going to bother and ask you out anymore. Kel, your ambition is what's keeping me from asking."

"No, I don't have a problem against your determination to graduate. But even the most determined people need to take a fucking break before they become older beyond their years and seem to have had no damn youth at all. And even then, you might not even reach your stupid goal."

"I know. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to curse. No, wait. You know what? I'm not _sorry. Maybe I'm just not the person to help you realize all of this. I blame myself for not being more patient."_

"You'll probably have friends who will think they're close to you, but they won't really be. I can just see it. You sit with them and talk sometimes, but that'll probably be it. They'll have fun and you will pass the opportunity most the time."

"You know what? This is far too depressing. I'll… I'll just see you later. Maybe."

"I'm sincerely sorry for this."

Keladry opened her eyes. She gasped as she felt the barrel of her own gun pressed to the side of her head. Faleron stood holding the weapon with his hands, which were still cuffed. His expression was serious, and a little sad. "Would you please put the keys to the cuffs on the floor and kick them to Wilson?"

She looked over at the other three men. They sat quietly on the floor, waiting for her. She couldn't believe how careless she had been for allowing herself to sleep. And she didn't even have a good dream-- just a nightmare of memories. Keladry looked back to Faleron. "You won't shoot me. You're bluffing."

His sadness became more abundant in his eyes. He sighed and said in a small voice nothing like his usual, "Officer, did you ever hear the phrase 'desperate people will do desperate things'?"

"Help," she whispered to unseen presences. She closed her eyes and shakily withdrew the small card key that unlocked the cuffs from her pocket. She dropped it onto the floor and kicked it over to the rest of the thieves. They quickly took their shackles off, climbing to their feet and waiting for Faleron's next orders.

"Get out of here."

"Fal?" Are you okay?" Morrison asked. He inched towards the leader.

"You heard me!" he said louder, but not enough for anyone outside the room to hear. "Get out now! Go through the back window."

"But--"

"_Now!_"

The three older men, frightened by his tone, did as they were told and undid the locks on the window. As they climbed out, Keladry concentrated on her captor. His hands were shaking, but the gun remained pressed to her head. She was starting to sweat out of anxiety. Would he be crazy enough to do anything to her?

"He's not like that," she told herself. "He may be a thief, but he could never be a murderer. There's something far too human inside of him to be a killer."

Joren and Cleon burst into the room. All within the matter of seconds, the three thieves flung themselves out the window, which was shot with bullets. Faleron froze for a mere second, enough for Keladry to twist around and toss him over her hip. He slammed into the floor, the gun in his hands. He futilely aimed at the two male officers, but Cleon was faster. One loud shot and the gun was knocked out of his hands.

"Go after the other three!" Joren yelled. Cleon sprinted toward the window, clearing away the broken shards sticking out from the windowpane. Then he leapt out onto the ground outside and chased after the fleeing thieves. In the meantime, Keladry dove for her gun at the same time as Faleron. They collided and grappled for the weapon. Joren aimed for a few seconds. They twisted around too much for him to get a clear shot. He swore and joined in the fight. 

"Back off!" Faleron warned Joren and punched him in the stomach. Keladry tackled him from behind, pinning him to the floor.

"Move, now!" Joren yelled to Keladry. She rolled off of Faleron just as he was moving to throw her off and run away. Joren grabbed the gun and squeezed off one round.

It struck the dark haired young man in the side. He reached the doorway when he fell, crying out in pain. Keladry stood up. Her heart was racing. Joren approached the fallen man slowly, still training his gun on him. Faleron only lay in pain, clutching his side. It was a shallow wound, as far as she could tell. "Stone--"

"Cuff him again. And this time, let me have the damn key."

~~

Cleon returned empty handed except for a heaving chest and lungs aching for more air. He panted still as he sat down in the wooden chair in the room where they had held the thieves. Faleron, unconscious but well, was laid out on his back on the hotel bed. His midsection was wrapped in bandages and gauze over the wound. His breathing was calm, and he looked to be out for hours. Keladry stood nervously beside the bed. She absently wiped her hands clean of Faleron's blood. She had put the bandage on him after cuffing him. Joren stood with his arms folded. His expression was deadly.

"Mindelan," he said in a tight, even voice.

She looked up to him with dread.

"You fell asleep."

"Yes," she replied, not bothering to find an excuse. It was all her fault.

"You let him get possession of your weapon."

"Yes."

"And you allowed the rest of the suspects to escape," he said in such a monotonous tone that Keladry was terrified on the inside. She willed her blank mask to go up, but it was rapidly crumbling. The pressure of failure was too great on her.

"Yes."

Joren's fury exploded. "What the hell is wrong with you? Do you have _any_ idea of what you just did?" He stalked up to her and began screaming to her face. "Because of you, our very jobs are at danger! This hotel room has to be paid for, we have to report that we lost three suspects because you took a fucking nap, and the one left is half dead because I had no other choice but to shoot him to save your sorry ass!"

She bit down on her tongue to keep her from crying out with anything stupid. Her head was pounding. She blinked rapidly, trying to keep her eyes from getting moist. It was absolutely childish. Keladry was ashamed that she was on the verge of breaking down for what she had done. 

Cleon stood up uneasily, still catching his breath. "Stone, she didn't mean to do it."

"It doesn't matter whether she meant to or not. The fact is, _she did it_ and now we're all going to have to pay!" he bellowed.

"How's it any different from when I left my damn guns behind and they got stolen huh?" the redhead said, starting to raise his voice. "Are you telling me the shit load of trouble I caused is worse than hers?"

"Those were _objects_, Cleon, not _people_!" Joren shouted. His mouth bent into a sneer. "And don't you raise your voice to me."

Cleon did a mock salute, still glaring angrily at the special operative. "Yes, sir. I think I'll go take a walk and sleep in a different hotel, _sir_."

He stomped out the door and slammed it behind him. This left Joren and Keladry alone with Faleron on the bed. She gulped, and folded her arms nervously. She didn't dare look anywhere else but at his shoes. He walked up to her.

"I'll watch him for the rest of the night. Go. Get out of here."

She nodded and walked away. When she reached the door, she turned around. Joren's back was toward her. His hands were braced on his hips and his head down. She didn't know what else to do. They would probably be demoted for everything they've done all the way from Ozorne to this. They couldn't even find a missing person. 

"I'm sorry," she whispered and left.

Joren turned his head slightly, having heard her. He let out a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose between his eyes. He sat down in the wooden chair beside the bed. It wasn't long before his pager started beeping.

"What the… Mr. Salmalin? Numair Salmalin?"

He crossed the room to use the phone and quickly dialed the number that appeared on his pager. Numair answered. He looked tired from the circles under his eyes and drooping eyelids. "Good evening, Stone."

"Mr. Salmalin."

"How's the search for Thom?"

Joren shook his head. "Wyldon took us off that case when we caught some suspects for something else."

The Councilman nodded. "I see. Well, I need you back on the case. We still need to find Thom."

"I'd suggest you talk to Wyldon about that."

"He won't give us any more officers."

Joren sighed. "Even if I wanted the job, I couldn't take it. We have a suspect under arrest and wounded with us that we have to bring to Tortall."

"Who is it?" Numair frowned.

"That guy over there," Joren moved the screen so it faced the bed. The older man gasped.

"Faleron King? He's a thief?"

The blonde's eyebrows arched in slight surprise. "Do you know this man?"

"He's the son of the former mayor of Corinth before the mayor got thrown out of office for gambling."

"I see."

The councilman tapped his chin. "Stone, don't worry about Faleron. He won't cause you any trouble. Just ask him what his little cousin Merric Hollyrose would think of him. That'll put him in his place. The young man is really okay. Faleron has a brilliant mind. He's just gotten desperate."

"So it seems."

"In any case, please, find Thom. Let Daine and me worry about Wyldon. We can take care of him."

"As you wish. " Joren hung up. He looked over at the prone form on the bed. "Desperate. Aren't we all…"

~~

Keladry lied in bed, curled up on her side. She managed to fight off tears. All her hard emotional training through the years prepared her for times like these. Times like those.

__

"…But even the most determined people need to take a fucking break before they become older beyond their years and seem to have had no damn youth at all. And even then, you might not even reach your stupid goal…"

"Have I just been lucky this whole time?" she asked herself aloud. "Have I only gotten this far because of luck instead of the skill and knowledge I worked at so hard to learn?"

She closed her eyes because she knew she wouldn't receive an answer. Before she fell asleep, she heard the door open. It was probably Cleon checking up on her. But wait, didn't he say he was going to another hotel? The door closed, and Keladry soon fell asleep, dreaming of nothing.

~~

Author: I know, I know. Lacking humor. Somewhat sad and depressing. You knew that there eventually had to be a lull in the story like this. Don't worry. Humor will always be a big objective for me. I'll do much better next time.

Closing Credits:

Special thanks to those who helped me with descriptions:

(Note: these people are VERY cool. Do not mess with them.)

Kestrel

Erin (Hyper Girl to the Rescue)

Sullychkk (Whose name is Caitie…)

And also to the people who volunteered to help with my web page:

FireLily

Jaelawyn Noble 

And if anyone is good with fixing web pages, please e-mail me. My e-mail is listed at top.

AND…

The pages for Character Statistics.

*Please note that these end with .htm and not .html due to some mistake upon my computer. I'll correct it someday.

[http://www.geocities.com/silvrblade.geo/silverdragon/fanfics/futurekel.htm][2]

[http://www.geocities.com/silvrblade.geo/silverdragon/fanfics/futurejoren.htm][2]

[http://www.geocities.com/silvrblade.geo/silverdragon/fanfics/futureneal.htm][3]

[http://www.geocities.com/silvrblade.geo/silverdragon/fanfics/futureowen.htm][4]

[http://www.geocities.com/silvrblade.geo/silverdragon/fanfics/futurecleon.htm][5]

And by the way, if Cleon's page pops up before the correct character's does, please ignore. Weird quirk I have to figure out, okay?

   [1]: mailto:silverwLng@aol.com
   [2]: http://www.geocities.com/silvrblade.geo/silverdragon/fanfics/futurekel.htm
   [3]: http://www.geocities.com/silvrblade.geo/silverdragon/fanfics/futureneal.htm
   [4]: http://www.geocities.com/silvrblade.geo/silverdragon/fanfics/futureowen.htm
   [5]: http://www.geocities.com/silvrblade.geo/silverdragon/fanfics/futurecleon.htm



	9. Revealing the Truth

It Could Be Worse

Episode 9: Revealing the Truth

By Sulia Serafine

[1-20-01. A Protector of the Small fanfic set in an alternate universe; all credit goes to Tamora Pierce. Lucky Charms doesn't belong to me either, and I stopped eating it a year ago. I'm broke, so you can't sue me.

Oh, one more thing: BAD LANGUAGE (I. E. cursing, swearing…). You have been warned!

E-mail me at [silverwLng@aol.com][1], okay? Thank you and have a nice day.

P.S. I MADE A PROFILE FOR FALERON. IT'S NOT UP YET. I'M CHANGING ALL THE PROFILES TO .HTML INSTEAD OF .HTM BECAUSE THE LINKS ARE REALLY STARTING TO PISS EVERYONE OFF (INCLUDING ME). I'LL TELL YOU WHEN I'M DONE.]

Faleron tilted his head to one side. "If I may say so, Officer--"

Keladry held her hand up. "I know that's how you should be addressing me, but I can only hear the word 'officer' so many times in one day. Just Keladry, or Mindelan. I don't care."

"Well, then, Miss Keladry, if I may say so-- you look like absolute shit."

She ran a hand through her short hair and blew her bangs out of her face. It didn't surprise her. She'd had no dreams, but she kept waking up every hour. The circles under her eyes probably made her look like a raccoon. "Really? That's just great."

Faleron nodded and ate another spoonful of his sugarcoated cereal. Cleon sat beside him, downing a tall glass of milk while casting long glances at him. Faleron was doing much better that day. As Keladry observed before, it was a shallow wound and wouldn't even hinder him by next week or so. He was much friendlier with everyone since he'd been shot and since Joren informed everyone about his past. Still, he acted with that invincible confidence that Keladry coveted.

"What _is_ that stuff?" Cleon pointed to Faleron's cereal. 

"Marshmallows. Lucky Charms to be precise with some powdered sugar I added myself. They are very tasty. Care for any, Mr. Kennan?"

"Uh, no thanks." Cleon stabbed at his eggs again. "You know, for a guy who talks like a dignitary of Mithros, you have some weird food preferences for sugar."

"And some weird career choices," Keladry added. 

The dark haired young man beamed at them. "Just call me the world's greatest mild-mannered, sugar-addicted thief-- with schooling from the greatest etiquette teachers in all the country." He paused and muttered, "Thank you Father for dumping me in a boarding school for several thousand years. Didn't I turn out just great?"

The two other officers sensed the hostility of the words and dropped the topic. Keladry thought about the previous night, when she had screwed up so badly. She honestly knew that it was the worst thing she'd ever done in her short career. She forced herself to eat even though she was not hungry. There was no sense in punishing herself with starvation. "Hey."

"Yeah?" Cleon looked up.

"Stone said we were back on the Thom Trebond case, right?"

He nodded. "Numair and Daine are pulling rank even though they don't want to so we can continue where we left off."

"I think I remember Mr. Salmalin from one of my father's parties," Faleron said absently. "Hmm… It's good to hear about him."

"Yeah. Uh, so, where can Thom Trebond be hiding now that we crossed off about seven or eight cities off the list?" Keladry asked Cleon. She turned to the other man. "Faleron, do you know anything about him?"

He gazed at her for a long time.

"Faleron?"

"Oh, sorry. I spaced out a bit. What was the name?"

"Thom Trebond."

Faleron's eyes imperceptibly widened. He looked down at his bowl and resumed eating. Keladry frowned.

"Do you know something? If you do, you have to tell us."

The two officers grasped each one of his shoulders. He slowly put down his spoon and looked up. He cleared his throat and scratched his head. The topic seemed awkward for him. "Okay. So, a year ago, I heard some things about a great inventor building odd stuff for anyone who would pay him enough. Wilson told me he used most of his money working on his own little experiments. Even though he's much more an inventor and physicist, the things he buys are…"

"Are what?" Cleon demanded.

"Are biological. He's working with living things and machines. Strange for a scientist like him, right?" He took a sip of his glass of milk. "And that's all I know."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Now that's not true. You know something else."

"I don't want to be found out for the one who squealed to the DJPF. I'll be killed."

Cleon clapped him on the shoulder. "Don't let them frighten you. You stick with us from now on."

"A goody-goody?" Faleron snorted. "Oh, if only the boys could see me now. A thief hanging with the DJPF. It's not like I can't stop stealing. It's no problem. I can live a respectable life. Lord knows I've done it before, right Officers? So, I hang out with you until they put me in jail for all the things I've stolen."

The redhead interrupted. "They'll only put you in jail if someone from Rogue's Bay is pressing charges. And we already returned every single thing you ever stole." He stretched his arms over his head. "By the way, that was some back-breaking labor that you now owe us."

"I thought I would be put in jail whether or not I'm being pressed with charges," he replied.

"Oh, no. That's only if you're a citizen of one of the major cities like Tortall. The others don't enforce it. So, are you going to tell us or what?" she poked him in the shoulder lightly.

"Okay, okay." He took a few more bites of cereal and chewed. When he swallowed, he started to speak. "I hear they call him the Wizard. I heard from a man in Corus that he lives in the Carthakian slums."

Keladry groaned. "Not there again."

"We get to go to Carthak?" Cleon brightened. "I've never been there before!"

"My first failure," Keladry mumbled and rested her forehead on the table. "Could things possibly get worse?"

"What's for breakfast?" Joren demanded more than asked when he walked into the hotel's breakfast nook. 

"Apparently, it can," she sighed.

"Can't catch my Lucky Charms!" Faleron snickered to himself. "You're welcome to the cereal. And there's toast and bagels, too. Not enough sugar for me, though."

The rude, stoic blonde peered at him for a moment. Then he sat down. "Damn. He's conscious. And he's even worse than before." 

"Faleron, tell him what you just told us," Cleon said.

"Okay."

Joren picked up two bagels for himself and reached for the cream cheese. He started to spread it on with a butter knife. "What is it now? And it better not be bad news." He glared at Keladry. "We've got enough as it is."

"Thom Trebond lives in Carthak."

The knife fell to the floor. Joren stood up, leaned over the table, and violently grabbed him by his collar. He yanked Faleron to his feet and stared him in the eye. "What did you just say?"

He dropped his spoon. It hit the floor with a clatter just like the knife. "I… I said Thom Trebond lives in Carthak."

Joren let him go and left the table in long strides. He called back, "Grab whatever food you want, and get all your stuff to the car in less than five minutes! We're leaving _right now_."

Cleon hastily stacked as many pieces of toast and bits of bacon onto his plate as he could, covered it with a napkin, and stood up. "Right now? Really?" He took another sip of milk. "Well, you heard the man! Let's go! I want to see Carthak!"

Keladry sighed and picked up a bowl of orange slices and Faleron's box of cereal. "No, you don't, Cleon. Carthak isn't anything at all to be excited about. It's sheer torture to be down there."

"Yeah, and the pickings are slim," Faleron said as he followed the two officers. "No room for the likes of me at all."

"You would know, huh, Faleron?"

~~

"Let's go!" Joren yelled. "Move it, move it! We're running late here!"

The remaining three nearly sprinted to the car. Cleon popped the trunk, where they piled their stuff. Keladry got into the driver seat, Cleon in shotgun and Faleron in the back seat. When Joren saw that they were ready, he sped off. Keladry mumbled something to herself and drove after him.

"Hey, can you drive well?" she asked Faleron while looking in the rearview mirror to see him. He was munching on his cereal while he and Cleon passed the plate of food back and forth. 

"Yeah. For a long while, I got stuck as the designated driver at Emry Haryse, my school."

Cleon turned around in his seat. "You went to Emry Haryse? No way! My little brother goes there!"

"No kidding! I bet he hates it, right?"

"Pretty much."

Keladry rolled her eyes. Leave it to Cleon and Faleron to find something in common and start talking a mile a minute. It wasn't a complete conversation though. It would not be a full conversation until Neal and Owen were there. Those two for the biggest loudmouths that she knew. She smiled in spite of herself and started to listen to them while she drove.

A few minutes later, Cleon turned back around. "Hey, where's Joren?"

"We'll see him when we come around the bend. He doesn't believe in speed limits, remember?"

They drove on after Joren. Halfway to Carthak, Faleron and Keladry switched places. She was so tired to begin with, and keeping her concentration on driving didn't help her status. She put her seat belt on and laid her head back. Keladry could sleep for a week if she wanted to… Or at least until they reached their destination.

~~

Carthak was exactly the same as how they left it. The three officers wore civilian clothes instead of their field uniforms. Keladry and Joren opted to wear the same clothes as they did last time. Cleon wore dark blue jeans and a white T-shirt under a dark green jacket. Faleron wore some clothes borrowed from Cleon and Joren. Being arrested did not allow him to bring some of his own stuff along on the trip. He ended up with black pants and a button-down blue shirt and a black vest. Now Keladry almost swore he could pass for some intellectual college boy or businessman.

Cleon grinned. "So, this is Carthak."

"Not all you expected, huh?" Keladry asked. She glanced insecurely around her. They were a block away from the Crypt where she knew Joren and her wouldn't be welcome. Some of Ozorne's men probably spread the word to watch out for the two DJPF officers. She wondered if anyone would actually attack him.

"I bet this place is really exciting."

"That's not even the half of it."

"Hey, Thief-boy," Joren called Faleron. 

"I'm not Thief-Boy," he said with a pout. 

"Fine," Joren drawled. "King, what other specific details do you know about our Wizard?"

He shrugged. "He has connections with all the gangs in Carthak. You could waltz up to any club and get someone drunk enough to tell you all about him. Well, that's how it was when I was here last."

The blonde biker nodded. He folded his arms. "Let's head over to the Crypt. Faleron and Cleon, up front. And keep your hands to yourself, King." He stared at him. "Ahem?"

"What?"

"That means return Cleon's wallet."

Faleron smiled sheepishly. "It seems you have a keen eye, Stone. As you wish." He reached into his pocket and produced the redhead's wallet. "So very sorry, chap. You… dropped it."

"Sure I did," Cleon muttered and shoved his wallet back in the back pocket of his jeans. "Don't do that again, Fal."

"I'm not promising anything." Faleron started whistling. They were nearing the club. "So, do we go as we are or do I suddenly become the millionaire playboy Maxwell Smith?"

"What!" Cleon laughed.

"Wear this," Joren said and handed Cleon and Faleron two fake wrist IDs. The two men put them on and put their originals in their pockets. When everyone was ready, they got in line for the entrance. Once again, there were two burly men guarding the entrance checking IDs. There was still a discount for couples, but this time Faleron hooked arms with Keladry. He played the part very well. His charisma counted for acting as well, she guessed.

"I wonder what type of drinks they have here," Cleon whispered when they got in. His eyes were wide. He stared at the holo-projections crossing the ceiling and then to the people on the dance floor. 

"No, drinking. We're on duty," she replied sternly. "You know that, Cleon."

"Than shall we take a trip to bar?" Faleron asked with a sweep of his arm. His other arm was still hooked around Keladry's. He led them to the bar to sit down. Joren remained quiet, hunched over on his stool, motioning for the bartender to give him a glass of scotch. 

"How come he gets to have a drink?" Cleon whined to Keladry. She glared at him. He shut up and traced circles on the bar top.

"Faleron, let go," she told the thief. He chuckled and let go of her arm. He also ordered a drink-- a simple shot of brandy. Cleon folded his arms and protested some more, but she glared at him. Faleron wasn't a member of the DJPF and she didn't dare to cross Joren.

"Ah, it seems you have quite a few man troubles, yes, Adalia?"

"That voice," Keladry thought. She turned around. "Who knows me by my sister's name?" Her question was answered. A woman with long dark hair, long eyelashes, and full lips stood with a smirk on her face. She wore a blue duster this time over the same white halter- top and black flared pants. It all came back to her.

"Lalasa Isran," she said finally. 

"Adalia!" Lalasa shifted her hips once. "I didn't think I'd see you and your boyfriend-- oh _excuse me_," she said in a stage whisper, " I mean partner-- around here again after you busted most of Ozorne's men."

"She knows--" Cleon gasped.

"Shh! Lalasa, not so loud," Keladry urged. She looked around. "Why don't you have a seat?"

Lalasa winked dangerously at Kel's companions, producing an interested raised eyebrow from Faleron and a goofy grin from Cleon. Joren cast her a sidelong glance and snorted. She flipped her hair over her shoulder. "So, honey, who are these two fellas? New boyfriends?"

"Faleron King, of the Street Pirates," he said, not caring about his fake ID. He held his hand out to her. She shook it. "And may I say, Miss Isran, you look stunning tonight. Right?"

Cleon nodded vigorously, although he remembered his new name. "Right! I'm Hugo Longleigh. Can we buy you a drink?"

She giggled, but once again, as Keladry observed, not in a ditzy way. "Sure you can. Mr. I'm-Not-Telling-You-My-Name over there should remember perfectly what I like to drink, " she nodded towards Joren. "Aww, come on now. What's with him? He seems a chillier than last time. I don't know _how_ you put up with him, Adie."

Keladry sighed. "It's part of the job."

"I see. Well, what about that Dirty Martini, huh?"

Cleon hailed the bartender while Faleron made small talk with the captivating woman. Keladry waited a few minutes before interrupting. She tapped Lalasa on the shoulder. The woman turned to her with a friendly smile. "Yes, Adie?"

"I was wondering if you could help us again."

Joren slammed his fist down on the bar top. "No."

Lalasa glared at Joren. "Now, excuse you, Mr. Grumpy, but I don't believe she was talking to you. Now, what were you saying Adie?"

"She was asking for help," Cleon beamed happily, anything to please her.

She nodded. "Ah, yes. Sure, honey, if you let me tag along."

"Oh, I don't think it would be safe for you, Miss Isran," Faleron clasped her hand. Cleon, a little jealous, took her other hand. He had stretched past Keladry's lap to take Lalasa's hand, annoying the female officer stuck in the middle. Lalasa's personality did not intimidate Keladry at all like Joren's nor did it make her jealous like she was of Faleron's smooth personality. She just wished she could have that flair of style that made the others fawn over her. 

"Well, I get bored around here. Especially since Ozorne's goons got taken away and Mr. Tasikhe himself is hiding."

"Absolutely not," Joren said-- the second thing he had spoken since they entered the Crypt.

"Well, what is it that you want me to help you with?"

Keladry elbowed Cleon. He withdrew his hand, and so did Faleron, a smug look on his face. She rolled her eyes and faced Lalasa again. "We need help finding Thom Trebond. Rumor says he lives in Carthak."

Lalasa laughed. Her laughter was the same as Keladry remembered it, rich with amusement. "Oh, you mean Uncle Thom?"

"Uncle Thom?" the three asked her in bewilderment.

"That's what he lets me call him," she nodded. "Sure, I'll take you to see him. I like you three a lot."

Out of the corner of her eye, Keladry could see Joren grip his scotch glass tighter. She stood up. "Well, let's go. No point in staying here, right?"

Cleon and Joren left some money for their drinks. Then they left the Crypt. Lalasa was at the front of the group with Cleon and Faleron on each of her sides. Keladry fell behind, listening absently while walking beside Joren. He seemed in a worse mood than when he was yelling at her. His silence always made her suspicious.

~~

"Uncle Thom! It's me, Lalasa! I brought some friends! Come and meet them!" She held the door open for the other four. They entered a rundown basement in the middle of the slums. Posters of the city scattered the walls, as well as maps and blue prints for buildings and machines alike. Stacks of books and magazines lined the walls. There were several racks of data CDs and primitive disks. The concrete floor wasn't swept. A quilt with holes was flung carelessly on a sagging brown and gray sofa off to the right. There was a coffee table with empty mugs and bowls with spoons.

"I told him to clean up last time," Lalasa mumbled and picked up the dishes. She went through a door on the left to what was presumably the kitchen. The other four walked around, looking at the different items that were scattered everywhere.

"Uncle Thom! Where are you?" Lalasa called as she came back. She took off her duster and slung it over her shoulder. "Come on. He's probably in his fancy lab sleeping on the table while drool drips onto his precious blueprints. I bet he hasn't even fed the animals today."

"Animals?" Cleon brightened. "What kind of animals?"

Lalasa shrugged. "Oh, all sorts. Come on, I'll show you."

They followed her through another door and down another set of metal stairs until they reached a door with a wheel on it. Lalasa spun the wheel until the door popped from the wall. She slowly opened it and walked inside. Inside was a large underground atrium filled to one side with plants and the other side with computers and other large machines that Keladry could not even figure out what purpose they served.

A golden retriever ran over to Lalasa, barking. She immediately stooped down to scratch it behind its ears. "Hey, you! Where's Uncle Thom, huh? And while you're at it, has he fed you?"

The dog whimpered. 

"I guess not. Could one of you grab that bag of dog food in the corner? There are so many different kinds of animal food over there."

For the first time, the officers and thief noticed the cages among the plants and the specialized habitats for each one. There were a few monkeys, only one cat, lounging in a tree while birds nested at the top where the cat could not climb. All of a sudden, Keladry noticed how fresh the air was. It was even better than the air back up top on the surface of Carthak. The walls were painted blue, but covered with plants and vines anyhow. If she turned her back to the machines, she could swear she was out in the countryside.

Lalasa happily fed the dog. Cleon petted the cat when it leapt down from the tree and onto his shoulder.

"Lalasa?" a man called from nowhere. 

"Uncle Thom! Where are you!"

"I'm stuck under the Reactor and Jump's eating my dinner! I can almost reach the plate… No! No, Jump! Stop it! I'm hungry!"

Lalasa started to laugh. She motioned for them to follow her. "What do you want us to do, lift?"

"There are other people with you?"

"Yeah, don't worry. They're friends. Come on, guys, grab the edge of this one. Yeah, this machine. Just stay calm, Uncle Thom. We'll have you out in a second. What were you doing anyway?"

The man grunted as he tried to move. "I was repairing it but the support gave way when Jump accidentally bumped into it. Confound it, Jump, stop eating my food!"

There was a little bark from under the metal box shaped Reactor. Lalasa held on to the plastic moving parts on top of it. The others lifted. Soon, a gray-white dog with black splotches on his nose, his only whole ear, and his rump trotted out. He wagged his twice broken tail, healed crookedly and barked at the newcomers. Presently, a man crawled out. He was as tall as Cleon but with redder hair and an unshaven face. Surprisingly, when he looked up at them, he shocked them with his violet eyes.

"You can go ahead and set it down. Thanks," he said and ambled over to a clear metal table. Unnoticed before, there was a bag of bagels. He took one out and started to eat it. "Jump, you little rascal. I take you off the streets and this I my thanks?"

The dog sat on its behind and tilted his head to one side, then barking as if to say, "Well, why should I give _you_ thanks? Lalasa brought me off the streets!" And then he bound over to the young woman and jumped up, wanting to be picked up. She laughed and did as she was asked.

"Nice to meet you all," the man said. "I'm--"

"Thom Trebond," Joren finished. "The Wizard, a famous genius who went missing ten years ago, still holds Tortallian citizenship, ID number 736620. And the twin brother of Advisor Alanna Olau Trebond." 

Thom narrowed his eyes. "Is he always like this?"

"Worse," they chorused. Joren shot them dirty looks, but they pretended not to notice.

"Well, what exactly do you want with me?"

Keladry strapped on her real wristband and flashed him her ID. "We're from the DJPF of Tortall--"

"Not me!" Faleron inserted.

"--And were sent by Numair Salmalin and Daine Sarassri to find you."

He nodded. His features became serious. "I know exactly what they want. I've been watching Tortall closely, and I've been listening around. I know why they need me, but you have to tell them I'm still working on it and I'll come to them as soon as I finish."

Keladry shook her head. "We can't do that. Our assignment is to find you and bring you home."

Thom finished his bagel and sat down in a black office chair on wheels. He moved over to a computer and started typing rapidly. "Well, I can't leave right now. I'm at a critical point of my work and the animals--" He stopped short. "I… I just can't leave, okay? Lalasa, show them out."

Lalasa moved forward with Jump but Joren stepped forward. "No, Mr. Trebond, we're not leaving. I want to know about your work, and I want to know why the hell Councilman Salmalin and Council lady Sarassri need you."

The Wizard stopped his typing. Without turning around, he said, "Ask Ozorne while you're at it."

"Ozorne isn't here. He's ditched Carthak," Lalasa interjected.

Thom scowled. "Well, I guess you would know, huh, Lalasa? You're his _daughter_, after all."

Silence. The other four people in the room stared at the dark haired woman, then to the redheaded Wizard, then back to her again. One single thought reigned supreme in their heads. The stylish, flamboyant Lalasa Isran was the daughter to the notorious rebel leader Ozorne Tasikhe? _The_ Ozorne Tasikhe? 

"…" Cleon's mouth formed an O. "Y-you're his d-daughter?"

"Yes," she said quietly, her eyes downcast. "But since he ditched Carthak and his cronies got arrested, I've been half living with Uncle Thom and half living with the rest of my friends." She looked up at them suddenly. "I swear, I don't have anything to do with his rebellions. I don't even know that much about them. Uncle Thom does! Ask _him_!"

Thom and Lalasa glared at each other. 

"Tell us, Mr. Trebond," Keladry said. "Please, we need to know what's going on. How else are we supposed to help?"

"No one asked you to help. It's not your problem," he said and returned to typing.

Cleon stepped forward. "No, disrespect Mr. Wizard, but if it involves Tortall, it is our problem. Which I'm guessing, it _does_ involve Tortall."

"You're not going to like what I have to say," he warned him.

"I think we're all used to disappointment," Faleron said. He folded his arms and leaned on the wall. "Go ahead, Mr. Trebond."

The middle-aged man sighed and put his head in his hands. He took a deep breath. "Okay. A few years back, when I had already left Tortall for isolation in this place here in Carthak, some guy trying to follow in my footsteps back at the presidential labs got some funding from President Conté for some top secret experiments on special creatures eventually called Immortals."

"Wait, the government outlawed all experimentation on animals," Cleon protested.

"Exactly. That's why no one knows."

Keladry shook her head. "And President Conté was funding it?"

"Is," Lalasa corrected. "The top scientist left, but the followers he left behind were now so obsessed with the project that they continued with approval from the President. My father found out some how and that's why he's rebelling. And even though it's supposed to be for a good cause, I don't want to support him. He kills people in his rebellions."

"Ozorne Tasikhe does this for the Immortals?" Keladry whispered.

"The Immortals are, as far as the public is concerned, extinct. It was so long ago that they existed that there are merely bedtime stories for young children," Thom explained. "Some say the Immortals have extraordinary powers. And the government has been genetically engineering different animals and fusing them with cybernetic parts in hopes of reviving the Immortals and bringing them back into existence. And they steal from the taxes to do it. And they steal from under-funded but vital departments of the federation. And they… they kill many, many test subjects in the process."

"That's terrible!" Cleon exclaimed

"That's the truth," Joren said. "And I suppose Salmalin and Sarassri want help to stop the secret projects. And if they threaten to reveal it to the public, the President can have them framed for some great offense and they'll be gone." He stared at Thom. "Is there anything else?"

"I've been informed with different things about what they really do," Thom amended. "Maybe it's not so bad as it sounds. But I trust my source with my life. He wouldn't lie to me about these matters after all we've been through." He turned around in his chair and smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry that you found out your government is a sham."

"We've been working as the DJPF to counter-attack the good guys," Cleon shook his head. "It makes you feel like all the years you've been at the academy have been spent to become a hypocrite and a villain-- and the whole time, you don't even know it!"

"Nobody knows," Keladry said. "They think the DJPF does good by personally going up against every single Ozorne faction that arises in every single city on the face of this country. By Glory, we've been fooled." She looked to where Cleon punched the wall angrily. "You know, why don't we just quit?"

Everyone stared at her. Cleon leaned against the wall and slid to the ground. "You're saying, after all that hard work, we just quit? Just like that?"

She nodded and thought, "I threw away most of my life trying to be like Alanna Olau Trebond. And if she's the President's Advisor, she _knows_ about this all. God, this isn't fair." "Let's quit. I'm not going to be apart of this."

"I never liked this job anyway," Joren said with a shrug. "And we'd probably get demoted when we got back."

Thom walked over to another table and picked up a small circular disk. He handed it to Cleon, the closest by. "Please send this to Numair, Daine, and my sister. I'd send it myself, but they'd track my location. If you do it, you have a better chance of disappearing from their eyes than for a middle-aged man already settled down in the slums of Carthak." He looked to Lalasa. "You go, too. You'll be safer with them. Eventually the gangs that Ozorne offended will be after you now that he's gone."

She turned to Keladry. "Is that all right, Adalia?"

"That's fine with me. But call me Keladry. Keladry Mindelan."

"And Cleon Kennan," Cleon piped up. Jump leapt out of Lalasa's arms and ran towards Cleon from where he was against the wall. The redhead was licked repeated by the dog while holding Thom's disk out of reach. "Oh, and Mr. Grumpy's real name is Joren Stone. Welcome to the new batch of unemployed men and women!"

Faleron snorted. "I'm not unemployed. I'm just my own boss."

"Are there any other centers for experimentation besides the President's property?" Joren asked.

"No. But they're doing some terrible things with the taxes and manual labor in Copper. You can see where a good part of the money goes to." Thom said and walked them to the door. "Lalasa, go pack your things."

"Yes, Uncle Thom." She went ahead of them out the underground atrium and up the stairs. 

"All these corrupted government officials," Faleron huffed. "It's just like my father, except worse." He nudged Cleon with his elbow. "And by the way, I'm sitting with Lalasa in the back seat."

Cleon turned red. "No, you're not! I am! You drive because Keladry's still tired, then she sits in shotgun, then Lalasa and _me_ will sit in the back!"

"Oh, brother," Keladry groaned. She pulled the two men apart. "I'm driving for tonight. And in any case, Lalasa sits in shotgun and the two of you are in the back seat." Before Faleron could speak, she put a hand over his mouth and said. "And when Faleron drives, Lalasa will be in the back seat with me while Cleon moves back to shotgun."

"You're so cruel!" Cleon cried. "It's Joren's influence, isn't it?"

Joren snorted from where he was behind them. 

"We have no time for this childishness! Look at all the shit we've been thrown into!" she nearly screamed.

The two men shrank back. The redhead whispered to the thief, "She must be pissed. She never curses!"

Keladry growled and went up the stairs. Thom blinked.

"It was nice meeting you, Mr. Trebond," Faleron bowed. "I hope to do business with you in the future. Here's my card--"

"Let's _go_, Thief-boy. Keep your fucking business deals for later," Joren said and grabbed him by the collar. They marched upstairs. Thom shook his head.

"Good luck. You'll need it."

~~

Keladry waited impatiently in the car. She rested her forehead against the steering wheel, trying hard to calm her breathing. Everything she worked for her whole entire life was for nothing. The DJPF directly corresponded to the government as its enforcers, its army. And the government wasn't even all that good.

Her pager beeped. She answered it. "Oh, hi, Neal."

"Hey, Kel. I tapped into Wyldon's frequencies again. You got put back on the Trebond case?"

"Yeah. Uh, Neal?"

"Yeah?"

"I can't talk to you any more."

There was a long gap of silence. "W-why?"

She sighed and leaned back in her chair. "The guys and I have to… to disappear for a while. Something bad is going on, and if someone else finds out that we know, than they'll tap this line. Don't tell anyone, though. Just keep on acting as if its okay. And if anyone asks, you tried calling my pager, but I wouldn't answer. And if you really do, I really won't answer."

He seemed at a loss for words. The first time ever. "But, I don't understand. _What's_ going on? Why can't you tell me?"

"You're going to be stuck at Headquarters. That's the last place to be in when in my situation. Just trust me, okay?" she whispered in a shaky voice. "Neal, don't believe anything they tell you about us."

"Yeah. Sure. Should I tell Owen not to call, too?"

"Yeah."

"Okay. Take care, Miss Tough Stuff."

"You, too. Bye."

Just as she ended the transmission, Lalasa loaded her stuff in the trunk and they got into the car. Joren modified the license plate number on the back of the car by painting over the older number, than did the same to his bike. He got on the Black Knight and moved forward. "We drive toward Copper for four hours. Then we sleep. We keep our fake identities. Cleon, use my program on this database and construct another one for Isran." He handed it to him. "And when we interact with other people on the way, remain inconspicuous. We're still officers on the search for Thom Trebond."

"But--"

"That means, Kennan, just because we're not responding to Headquarters, doesn't mean we're not officers. We need our positions to get access to the city hall in Copper and wherever else we go to find out the real truth to all this Immortal bullshit."

They nodded in agreement. He grabbed his helmet. "Okay then. Let's go."

"We're still officers," Keladry chanted to herself. "We're _still_ officers, Mindelan. Not because we want to-- it's for convenience. We're still officers… We're still officers… We're still… we're still…"

"Are you okay, Adie--I mean, Keladry?"

"Yeah. I'm fine. Don't worry about it."

~~

Closing Credits:

Special thanks to those who helped me with descriptions:

( Note: these people are VERY cool. Do not mess with them.)

Kestrel

Erin (Hyper Girl to the Rescue)

Sullychkk (Ack! All I remembered was your e-mail! I'M SO SORRY! E-MAIL ME, OKAY?)

And also to the people who volunteered to help with my web page:

FireLily

Jaelawyn Noble (please e-mail me)

And if anyone is good with fixing web pages, please e-mail me. My e-mail is listed at top.

   [1]: mailto:silverwLng@aol.com



	10. One Last Nutcase Arrives

It Could Be Worse

Episode 10: One Last Nutcase Arrives

By Sulia Serafine

[1-22-01. A Protector of the Small fanfic set in an alternate universe; all credit goes to Tamora Pierce. I'm broke, so you can't sue me.

Oh, one more thing: BAD LANGUAGE (I. E. cursing, swearing…). You have been warned!

E-mail me at [silverwLng@aol.com][1], okay? Thank you and have a nice day.

P.S. I've fixed the PROFILES for EVERYONE. You can now see Kel, Joren (those two are the longest loading. Be patient), Neal, Owen, Cleon, Faleron, Lalasa, and another character whom you will meet in the story.]

~~

"Now, _this_ is nice."

Faleron made a grand sweeping motion of his arms as he beheld Copper City. The sunlight reflected off the shining city. The tall buildings were smooth as glass, but they couldn't possibly be. The opaque walls to shopping centers and art museums gave it a unique appearance. The bright colors were permanently etched into the landscape. Fields of flowers were grown into the sides of schools where students tended to them and the same with other public places. Brand new rails crossed the open sky. Speedy white trams went traveled back and forth on the rails. The air was clean. There was no litter on the ground. There was not even a crack to behold on the concrete sidewalk, which was lined with flowers on the corner of the peaceful street. A person could even hear the birds chirping in their well-kept trees lining the brand new streets.

Cleon looked at his reflection in the side of a building. "This can be one of two things: A) the citizens of Copper, besides being cheated by their local government, take pride in the appearance of their city to keep it clean and sanitary or B) they all like looking at themselves in mirrors a whole lot." And to punctuate his words, he took out a comb from his pocket and began straightening his hair using the building's wall. "Why didn't anyone ever tell me my hair was this wild?"

"It's always been that way," Keladry shrugged. "You just need to comb it more."

"Humph. I need hair gel. That's what I need."

"I wonder what the night life is like around here," Lalasa murmured, thinking of the bright lights of dance clubs. "Guess we wait until later to find out."

"No," Joren said. "We have work to do."

"Oh, yes," she sighed. "How can anyone forget?"

"I really want to go see their shopping centers," Faleron said, although no one paid attention.

Keladry read a digital map on Joren's database. She pointed down one street. "Federal buildings are in that direction. Should we find ourselves a place to stay before we go off playing detective?"

"Yeah, that's sounds like a good idea," Cleon said, pressing his hands over his unruly hair.

"A place with a secure garage," Joren said, eyeing his bike from where it was parked behind the silver hover car.

Faleron pouted. "I said, I'd _really_ like to see the shopping centers. Who knows what valuable merchandise is available."

"Oh! I think I have enough money for all of us to get into a really nice hotel," Lalasa winked. She checked her purse. "Now, just give me a second. Kel, can you look up the hotels around here? In a city like this, there _has_ to be a five-star hotel!" She cocked her head to one side. "Preferably one with a Jacuzzi."

"Is anyone listening?" Faleron cried. He received no response since everyone else was busy doing something. Annoyed, he folded his arms and decided to give them five more minutes before sneaking away.

"No expensive flashy places," Joren told Lalasa. 

She pouted. "But why not? Look around you!" She shook her finger at him. Keladry never thought _anyone_ would have the guts to shake their finger at Joren like that, but Lalasa wasn't fazed by his cold attitude at all. "Okay, pal? I have spent the latter of my wretched life in _Carthak_ of all places. This is the complete opposite of Carthak! It's even better than Tortall from what I can tell by pictures!" She put her hands on her hips. "We are staying in a nice hotel."

He regarded her for a moment, then said. "I was not given any orders from Mr. Trebond nor was I paid to allow you to travel with us. Therefore, I'm not putting the rest of the people I am responsible for at risk. You are free to do whatever the hell you want. The rest of us will go find an unnoticeable hotel."

"Argh!" she growled. She grabbed Keladry's arm. "Come on, Kel! You hate him, too, right? Then come with me. We can go stay at this place called the Plaza! Look at that advertisement!" She pointed at the billboard above.

Keladry uneasily took Lalasa's hand from her arm. "I hate to admit it, but he has a point."

"Oh, fine. Let's go." She trudged to the car, swung open the door and slid into the back seat. 

~~

They rented three rooms at the Dancing Dove Inn. Keladry and Lalasa roomed in one. Cleon and Faleron stayed in the other while Joren kept to himself in the last single. It was a middle-class place. The furnishings were not brand new, but not old either. There was a lot of polished wood to go along with the city's theme of shiny glassy materials. Others lingered in the lounge, which was connected to the hotel. Both guests and customers were allowed in. 

And this was where the motley crew of young men and women sat and ate. Keladry read Copper's newspaper for that day, turning the sheets of printed clear plastic in her hands. She absently sipped some orange juice while reading about the extremely low-crime rate of Copper.

"There's not much to pin in this city. It's immaculate," Cleon said as he twirled a pen in his right hand, almost twirling it like a gun in how he pointed it at Lalasa and started twirling again. She chuckled.

"There's got to be something," Joren mumbled. "Maybe there are no obvious leads. Trebond mentioned things about taxes and manual labor."

Lalasa held her arms up over her head in a melodramatic gesture. "Oh, help me! Help me! I've been laboring too hard in Seventh Heaven!" She lowered her arms and glared at the blonde. "Maybe Uncle Thom is wrong, okay? Maybe this city is untouched by Mithros' corruption and has survived. Its conscience is probably as clear as the glass that encases this damn place."

"Yeah. So clear that I can see right through it," Joren retorted.

Keladry fiddled with the portable database again, pressing buttons rapidly. "It says here that the mayor deals with most of Copper's affairs within his own home. His offices are there and that's where this city's council meets."

"Then, let's pay him a visit," Cleon grinned. "I wonder what _his_ place looks like.

When they were almost at the mayor's mansion, set off on an estate at the very edge of the city surrounded by woods, Cleon had Keladry stop the car. He turned around in the back seat a few times trying to figure out what was wrong with the picture. Joren made a U-turn and drove up beside them. Keladry rolled down the window.

"What's wrong now?"

Cleon slapped his forehead. "_Faleron_!"

Lalasa gasped. "Oh, where is he?"

"I can't believe we forgot about him!"

Keladry's eyes widened. She leaned toward Cleon and grabbed his sleeve. "No, _no_. Please say you're kidding me and he's hiding back at the freaking hotel…"

"How did you all manage to ignore him?" Joren burst angrily.

"Well, you did, too!" Lalasa stuck her tongue out. She folded her arms. "I feel so bad now! Fal must be furious at us!"

The redhead leaned back. "I wonder why he didn't speak up."

The four people paled.

~~

"Oh, yes, this is one hell of a city," Faleron said under his breath as he fingered his new wallet. He tipped his new hat to young females that he walked by. They giggled at his gentlemanly appearance and waved back. The leader of the Street Pirates gazed upon the rows upon rows upon _levels_ of stores and shops. The shopping center was huge. Glass store windows, the easiest to break into. Plastic doors, the easiest to open. 

He suddenly spied a rack of tools from the corner of his eye. He felt in the bottom of his pants pocket. His lock picking tools and other tiny, high-tech gadgets were in sore need of replacing. Faleron shrugged and walked into the hardware store, being sure to be polite to the storeowner and his beautiful daughter at his side.

"Let's see…" he began to pick up tools that showed some usefulness. Half of it he hid in his vest, the security tag expertly torn off without a sound and thrown into the trash bin across the isle. His version of being polite to any merchant was to only steal half the things and pay for the more expensive half. 

"And with my new wallet," he thought, "I can most assuredly pay for it. " He brought his items to the counter. The cashier smiled at him immediately when he saw the more expensive items and then Faleron's rich clothing. Faleron was sure to smile back.

"How will you be paying?" the cashier asked. 

Faleron held out his wrist with the wallet's ID code on his faker pager. Then he looked at a credit card and handed it to the cashier. The cashier, a young lady fresh out of school by the looks of it, slid his card through a scanner and handed it back to him. The cash register started to process the information. A green light blinked.

"Thank you for shopping. Have a nice day."  
  
"Oh, I will," Faleron winked and walked out whistling.

~~

Cleon patted his pants pocket. "Aww, man! He stole my wallet again!"

"Cleon!" Keladry scolded.

He suddenly breathed a sigh of relief. "No, wait. It's here. False alarm, everybody. Nothing to worry about!"

"Knowing him, Thief-Boy is having himself a shopping spree," Joren said. "You, Isran. You're a woman. You can navigate a shopping center. Take the redhead and find Faleron."

Lalasa was at first insulted by the 'woman and shopping center' remark, but she thought longer about it and realized she could shop at the same time… which wasn't really that bad. "Okay. Come on, Cleon. Let's go find Fal."

"Wait! Keladry, can we have bus fair?" He leaned his head over her shoulder. Keladry undid her seat belt so she could reach her own money. She handed him a few coins. "Five Nobles and a few coppers. That's all you're getting from me."

"Thanks, Tough Stuff!" he called and got out of the car with Lalasa.

"Stop calling me that!" Keladry shouted after him. She turned to Joren. "So, are we still going to the Mayor's place?"

He nodded and started fiddling with the navigation screen on his bike. "Yeah. We can join one of the tourist groups."

She started laughing. "They have _tourist groups_?"

"Yeah. So let's go." He put on his helmet and rode off. Keladry growled when he was disappearing from sight. She turned the ignition and drove after him once again trying to keep up.

~~

Roald Jasson hated his life. He hated it with a passion. For the last six weeks, his parents had sent him to live with Mayor Douglass Veldine of Copper City to learn the ways of successful political figures. Well, mayor was hardly anything worth recognizing, but after the last month was over, Roald was to be shipped off to live with a governor, then a senator, then-- well, you got the idea. His father was the Vice President of Mithros. Politics ran in the family.

"I just had to be an only child," he muttered while fixing his tie. He had coal black hair and deep sapphire blue eyes. All his parents' friends and colleagues used to compliment him on his looks. Roald was also tall and lithe. And he always wore a serious expression. His parents' expectations of him were far too burdening. He was surprised he'd kept his sanity for so long. 

He could remember every single thing they said before he left.

__

"But, Roald Darling," his mother said. "You have the makings of a natural born leader. Look at that handsome face! Those serious eyes! Your head is always high and proud, and you move stately as any respectable patrician would."

"Yes, yes," his father had said while puffing away on his pipe. "He'll become a great man one day. Maybe even take over my job, eh?" And he laughed heartily.

His mother cupped his face, turning it this way and that way to check him. "Relax, Roald. You're going to have a fine time in Copper City. You know we can't take you out of the country with us."

Roald nodded. "I know. I hope you have a nice time, Mother."

She pinched his cheeks. "Aww, such a thoughtful boy. I'll call you once a week, yes?"

He nodded some more-- anything to get them away. His father took a few more casual puffs on the pipe before putting it down and clapping him on the shoulder. Roald's father was a heavy boned man with a strong jaw and a thick black beard. He always told Roald every single thing that he expected his son to do: have a political career, gain as much fame as he, and carry on the family legacy. 

His mother, a petite woman with a pointy nose and enthusiastic eyes, told Roald every menial task he had to perform, instead of career move. This included what he should wear, eat, who he should talk to, who he should marry. He would always care for his mother, but she was basically a control freak. 

And Roald had had about enough. For some reason that day, he couldn't fix his tie. So, he took it off from where it was around his neck and stuffed it in his pocket. At the time, Roald was in the men's room in the main hall of Mayor Veldine's mansion. He braced his hands on each side of the pearly white sink and leaned toward the mirror.

"Natural born leader?" he asked his reflection. "You don't like to talk in front of large groups, you'd rather curl up with a fantastical book, and you abhor politics. I may look like a leader, but there's no way in the world I will ever become one." He shook his head and started to exit the restroom. "I can't live like this! I have to… to run away or something."

He froze at the door. "That's a ridiculous idea. How in the world would I ever go about running away? Withdraw all my money, get a car, and just drive away? I need something to cover my tracks." He also considered his mother's smiling face. "She annoys me. Any mother annoys her son at some point in their lives, I suppose." He sighed. "I don't want her to be angry with me. It's selfish. Maybe if I leave a note for her, she won't be too mad."

Roald absently toyed with his shirt collar. Was it hot in there? "This is stupid. I can't run away. I'm too chicken to do it."

He shouldered his way through the door--

--And slammed into a young woman with light brown hair. They went crashing to the ground. 

"Oh great," Roald thought as he pushed himself up on his hands. "I bumped into the tourists again." He got up on his feet and held out a hand to the young woman. She took it and pulled herself up. Surprisingly, she was his exact height. "I sincerely apologize for that. I should not have gone through the door like that. You didn't even have time to move out of the way."

"It's okay," she said with a weak smile. Another young man with straight blond-- the palest blond he'd ever seen-- hair to the bottom of his ears waited impatiently for her. The tour group was going on without them. She turned back to him. "I have to go."

"So sorry again, " he called.

"Don't worry about it!" She joined her male companion and they jogged to catch up with the rest of the photo-taking sightseers. Roald watched them until they disappeared from sight. Then he headed to his room upstairs.

~~

"Watch where you're going," Joren hissed when they finally made it to the back of their tourist group.

"He's the one who bumped into me!" she hissed right back.

"Whatever."

They listened to the tour guide point out the rooms and kept track of their route. They also asked a few questions about the structure of the mansion. But so not to look suspicious, Keladry and Joren made sure the questions were mostly innocent. They could draw their own conclusions based on other things they observed.

Joren nudged her. "Restricted offices. DJPF can't access them."

"Offices," she repeated. "All those doors?"

"We'll arrive early."

"One in the morning?"

"One thirty."

She sighed. "I'm never going to get any sleep."

The tour continued on for another half-hour. The two officers kept track of the number of guards that lingered around as well as the different doors with different security keypads. The structure of the mansion was relatively easy. On both floors there was a central room. They were the largest in width and length. Surrounding both on each floor were a series of rooms that formed a grid around it. 

Keladry watched one of the tourists, a man with dark brown hair in a crown about his balding head, snap a few more shots of the dining room. She wished she had thought of that. Pictures would be so easy to study. "Or maybe if Faleron was here, he could steal the cam--" she stopped her train of thought and chided herself. "It's bad enough we're breaking in to dig through the offices. No one has to steal."

They departed the mansion. Out on the main drive, a sleek white bus was waiting for them. The driver was busy wiping the front of it while smiling from ear to ear. If she had a job like that, she would probably die from the pain in her cheeks and jaws from smiling. The group of tourists boarded the bus and took their seats. Naturally, the two officers sat in the back. 

Joren reached into his pocket and brought out a clear, thin plastic sheet. It was another map that he picked up from the mayor's house. Keladry nearly choked. "Hey! Where did you get that?"

"It was behind the podium in the conference room."

She narrowed her eyes. The man had a _map_ in the palm of his hand and decided to show it to her _after_ they left the Mayor's residence? "So we memorized the layout to the mansion for nothing?"

He slowly shook his head. "Something might happen to the map."

"Right."

Now it was his turn to glare at her. "Mindelan."

She blinked. He was _always_ glaring at her no matter what she did. "What did I do now?"

"Your pager?"

She flinched. "I really have to keep the sound turned on," she thought and answered it. Then she smiled to herself. Joren looked at her skeptically. "They found Faleron cheating an ice cream vendor."

"Ice cream?"

"With sprinkles," she stifled a laugh threatening to burst out.

~~

"Hey! Stop that, you're wrinkling the shirt! It's not enough that there's a vanilla-strawberry stain on my pants, is it?" Faleron yanked Cleon's hand away from where he had been gripping the dark haired young man by the sleeve. He brushed himself off. "I think you should know I actually paid for this. A gentlemen pursuing a leading career should always be dressed like a rich man."

"Which you are not," Lalasa chuckled. "I don't even want to _know_ where you got the money."

Cleon snorted. "Stolen, of course."

Faleron flicked him in the back of his head with his index finger. The redhead rubbed at the spot and glared at the thief. The glare was returned. Soon they stopped where they were on the moving walk to stare each other down. Lalasa parted the two men with raised hands. "Boys! Boys, calm down. Goodness, you two can be like children sometimes!" She tossed her hair over her shoulder and moved past them. "And while you're at it, Faleron, return Cleon's wallet."

"What!"

"Hey! This time you really dropped it! It was when you were wrestling me away from the ice cream vendor, remember?"

"Right…"

Cleon heard his pager beep. He checked his wrist. "Hey guys," he motioned for them to come over. "Keladry received our message. She says for us to go back to the hotel and pack up our stuff."

"We paid for the whole night!" Lalasa protested. She clutched her black leather purse. "Don't tell me I wasted my money!"

He shook his head. "There's more coming." He paused. "She says that by midnight, we should be out the city limits on the highway headed to the coast. And they want us to bring most of their stuff with them and leave what they'll need to… to break in."

Faleron grabbed his wrist and looked at the pager. "What? They don't know the first thing about breaking into places! I'm staying!"

The female Carthakian struck him on the shoulder. "Don't talk so loud!"

They stepped off the moving walkway and out the revolving doors of the shopping center. They walked down the steps and waited at a bus stop on a metal bench. Cleon sat down and stared at his pager. "Why would they break in?"

Lalasa tapped the tip of his nose. "Because the offices aren't open to the DJPF. Government regulations, Honey."

"I never heard of that," he wrinkled his nose.

"It's only effective in this city," she explained and sat down. Faleron sat on his other side. 

He lowered his wrist. "Well how do you know?"

"I actually read newspapers," she said in a stage whisper. "Now! Let's just go back to the Dancing Dove."

Faleron tapped his foot. "Why can't I join them?"

She let out a deep breath. "You _want_ to?"

He rolled his eyes and stood up. He shook his fists in the air. "They're not experts at this! I am!" Cleon yanked him down again. "Okay, okay! I'll be quiet." He sat down again. "They're DJPF. How would _they_ know how to conduct a break in?" Then his eyes widened and he leaned back. His face was slightly paler. "Never mind. They can do it."

Lalasa frowned. "What?"

Cleon leaned toward her ear and whispered. "Joren."

"Oh…"

~~

At eight o'clock, Keladry and Joren reached the Dancing Dove again. The others were gone and signed out, leaving Joren's sole room with both their bags there. Exhausted from their trek all over the city, Keladry threw the shopping bags down on the single bed and started to stretch out her forearms. 

"I don't see why we had to buy all that illegal ammunition and equipment." She scratched the back of her head. The female first class officer recalled the pot-bellied arms dealer showing them his secret selection of bullets and energy sources. Even though they weren't working for the DJPF, they still had to follow laws. "Irony. What's the point of using bad things for the greater good? " Aloud, she said, "What about your bike?"

He poked his head out of the bathroom where he was setting up something she couldn't see. "It's in the garage. I'll drive it out to the resting station in advance. It's not a long drive. And then I'll take a rental car back and we'll use that to get to the Mayor's."

She nodded. Three hours to go.

~~

Midnight:

Roald double-checked _everything_. He had spent the last two hours cramming his whole entire life into one backpack. There went a spare change of clothing and underwear. Then the necessary hygiene tools. Then the various versions of money (cash, credit, check) and food that would last a long time. He had no idea where he was going to go, but that was something he needed to worry about later.

"I can't do this," he whispered. It was dark in his room with only the moonlight through his window to light his face. He pressed his forehead to the glass and looked down. He had a perfect view of the front lawn that stretched out for half a football field and then the long drive leading to the main entrance. 

Mayor Veldine and his wife were most likely asleep. And the rest of boarding staff members had closed up the offices and gone to bed hours ago. The only men up would be the security. Roald had a vague idea of how to get past them.

"Key card," he remembered and searched his pockets. There it was-- the piece of white plastic that was going to open the gates to freedom, literally.

~~

The clouds passed over the moon. The trees cast long shadows over the dewy lawn as the two dark figures traipsed along a path through the woods surrounding the property. They stopped outside the black iron fence with pointed spire-like points at intervals. One of them reached into a black bag and pulled out a long metal clamp connected to a box in the bag. Then, this person clipped it onto one of the iron bars with a point on top. The other person took another metal clamp connected to the box and attached it to the next iron bar with a point. Then the first flipped a switch on the box.

If a person had looked out the window from the mansion facing the West, he or she would have seen a bright spark flash within a half-second. The dismantling of electrical sensors in the fence was complete. The first one took the clamps off, stuffed them back into the black bag, and slung it over their shoulder. Then the two climbed the fence in that spot, careful not to make one noise. 

"This way," one of them mouthed and led the two toward the servants' entrance on the side of the mansion. The second of the two started for the door, but the first grabbed the other's arm and dragged them to the bushes. A light from the security systems' outdoors camera passed over the spot where they had been.

Instead of using the door, they scaled up the side of the mansion with caution. Upon reaching the second floor, the leader of the two reached into the their bag once more and drew out a keypad. It was positioned in the corner of the window. Numbers flashed across the screen. The numbers were entered in, and a nearly inaudible click was heard within when the digital window locks were undone. To break the glass was certain failure. Sensors covered the glass during the night. If it was broken, the alarm went off.

They carefully slid the window up. One held it for the other as they entered, careful to leave no footprints on the tan carpet of the hallway. Before they went any further, they stopped again to reach up and fiddle with the security cameras.

"Do you know how to rig them to display a continuous image?" Joren inquired with a hoarse whisper.

"No. They didn't really teach this at the academy," she sarcastically replied.

He beckoned for her to come closer and look to where he was holding the camera. "Hand me the second to smallest screwdriver you have."

Keladry did as she was told and obediently gave it to him. He proceeded to undo the casing on the camera and rewire it. She paid special attention to what he messed with and when he did it. She locked away the information in the back of her mind and followed him down the hall. "What about the other cameras?"

He stopped and turned around again. Joren returned back to the camera he rigged and attached a remote looking gadget to it. Then he returned to her side and they proceeded it. "That sends the same malfunctions to every camera."

She growled. "You know how to break into a top notch security location and where to get the equipment to do so. This is absolutely unbelievable. What kind of officer are you?"

"I'm not an officer. I'm a special operative," he replied coldly. "Stop talking, Mindelan. Let's go."

They headed to the stairwell to reach the offices below.

~~

Faleron paced back and forth. The other two watched him from where they sat on the hood of the car. 

"Calm down, Fal. What could go wrong?" Lalasa shrugged.

He clutched the sides of his head. "Everything! They don't know about the automatic repair system that came out this last year. If a glitch is intentionally introduced to the system without re-installment of the whole program so that every similar machine functions in similar ways, it rights itself in a span of fifteen to twenty minutes!"

Cleon blinked. "And that means…"

"It's the most common way to deal with visual security," Faleron groaned. "And if he… he… Oh, God! They're done for!"

~~

"Did you find it?" Keladry asked over his shoulder.

"Yeah. Everything we need. Here are the tax records before… and there they are after."

"That's a big difference," she murmured in disbelief.

He nodded. "Make a copy onto disk. I'm going to check on the cameras." He tapped his chin. "I heard about some new automatic repair system. I better uninstall everything as we leave."

Keladry quickly made the copy of the records and tucked it into her belt. She shut down the computer and tiptoed after her partner into the hall. They locked the door again and stealthily made their way down the hall again. Everything was fine. The cameras were still running continuous images from where they were stationed. They could escape from where they came. Every time a guard passed by, they ducked behind a corner. It was a great advantage to have all the halls meet each other as a grid.

"Something's wrong," she whispered to him.

"What? Did you leave something behind?" he said. They were a few doors and hall crossways from their exit. She pointed to a door down an adjacent hall.

"Did you open that?"

"No," he replied. He stepped forward to investigate it, but decided better. "Forget about it. Pull your mask on again. Let's go."

They exited through the door and relocked it. Then they climbed down the side of the wall, dropping into the bushes just as the light passed over the side of the mansion. Then they ran as fast and silently as they could to the iron fence.

~~

Meanwhile, Roald was home free. He had used the gardener's gate at the iron fence to get into the woods. His key card was good for almost anything, save for three offices and the Mayor's personal chambers. He pulled up the neck of his dark blue sweatshirt and started to regret leaving his hat behind. At least he was comfortable with the rest of his civilian clothes.

"No tie," he happily said and flung the clothing ornament away from him. Then he looked down at his Cavall University blazer. He threw it onto the ground and stomped on it with his hiking boots. That day, Roald Jasson was a free man. He was going to choose his own future and live his own life. He walked through the dark woods, a flashlight in hand, and a triumphant smile on his face.

Half an hour passed, and he reached the end of the woods, where the highway was. Amazingly, a shabby rental car was parked in the ditch. He would have missed it if he hadn't been standing right in front of it. The clouds still covered the moon and the car was black. He popped the trunk. It wasn't locked. Unfortunately, there was nothing inside.

"Hey! Over here," he heard a voice say in the woods.

"Oh, no," he muttered. "They can't know I'm gone already!" Without another thought, he threw himself in the trunk and closed it after him. 

Keladry and Joren emerged from the woods. 

"I hope the cameras didn't fail," Keladry said as she groped for the door handle. "Do you have the keys?"

"Yeah," he answered and unlocked the doors. "And we don't know crap about the cameras. What's the use of worrying?"

"I'm an insecure person," she said silently and got in. They drove off toward the resting station three miles down the road. It took ten minutes in the rental car. Roald was still in the trunk. He wasn't suffocating. The rental car, though fast, was old, and there was a whole somewhere in the corner that gave him enough air. He curled up near it and squirmed around for a better position.

"Who are these people?" he wondered. "Oh, well. Hopefully, I can sneak out when they stop next."

Somewhere along the way to the rendevous point, Joren hit a bump in the road. 

"Hey! Watch it! You hit that one too hard."

"Whatever."

Roald, unfortunately, struck his head on the bottom of the trunk very hard and blacked out. Keladry turned around in her seat and looked behind her. "Did you hear something?"

"No. Now shut up. We're almost there."

Suddenly, DJPF squad cars appeared behind them. They flashed their lights and set off their siren. Joren cursed. "Shit! How the hell did they find us? How did they know?"

"By Glory," Keladry gasped. "Hurry! Speed up! Can you lose them?"

"Yeah, I think," he said. He shifted gears. "Damn it, the cameras must have failed!"

"STOP!" a man called through a megaphone from the first squad car. Keladry could see him lean his head out the window. "STOP, KIDNAPPERS! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH ROALD JASSON?"

"_Roald Jasson_?!" 

Joren scowled. "What the hell! We didn't kidnap Roald Jasson! Bullshit!"

Keladry looked behind her. She let out a low moan. "Oh, no. The trunk… I told you I _heard_ something!"

"STOP! DO NOT HARM THE HOSTAGE OR ELSE YOU WILL BE ARRESTED AND PERSECUTED FOR--"

"Oh, _shut up_!" Joren yelled at the top of his lungs. 

Keladry covered her face with her hands. They were shining lights through the car windows. Joren increased the speed. They could make it to the off ramp and lead the local DJPF of Copper away from the resting station. "Where does that name sound familiar? Roald Jasson?"

"Vice President's son," Joren answered. "Damn it, who cares? We have to lose them!"

He took a sharp turn onto the off ramp leading off the interstate. He could see the resting station in the distance, but did a U-turn and passed under the bridge and sped off into the wood trails. The squad cars fought to keep up, but Joren had picked the car well and soon left them in the dust. Forty minutes later, they got out from the woods and drove slowly back to the resting station.

"Almost out of fuel," Keladry commented as she listened to the car struggling to make it. 

"No, really?" Joren rolled his eyes.

As they pulled into the back parking lot of the resting station, they spied where Joren's bike and the silver hover car were parked. They pulled up next to it. Keladry, exhausted, got out and leaned on the side of the car. Fully knowing that a person was in the trunk, she said wryly, "Do you have any money for fuel?"

"No," he replied. "We have to dump the car anyway. They've chased us in it and probably have the license plate."

She stared at him for the longest time with a mixture of irritation and anger. She finally stomped her feet and pointed at the trunk. "I'm not sure if you've _noticed_, Stone, but we have the _son_ of the _Vice President_ IN OUR TRUNK!"

At the scream, Cleon, Lalasa, and Faleron ran out from the all-night diner they had been waiting in. They immediately saw what wrecks the two officers looked like. Faleron ran up to Keladry and grabbed her shoulder. 

"You forgot about the cameras, didn't you? Didn't you?" he asked in a panicked voice.

"Thief-boy, back off. The cameras were pieces of shit anyway," Joren scowled and popped the trunk. He raised one eyebrow at the sight of the unconscious young man.

Lalasa gasped and ran up behind him. "Is he… is he _dead_?"

"No way!" Cleon slapped his thighs. "A dead body? Really?"

She elbowed him hard. He rubbed his midsection where she had connected and took a step back. "Idiot," she said and reached forward to check Roald's pulse. "Oh, thank God! He's okay!" She looked up at Joren. "Who is he?"

Keladry rubbed her temples. "Roald Jasson, son of the Vice President."

The three gasped practically in unison. Joren rolled his eyes and moved away from the trunk. Lalasa glared at him and motioned for Cleon and Faleron to help Roald out. "Wake up! Please, wake up?"

The blue-eyed stowaway groaned as he drifted into consciousness. He blinked a couple of times before squinting up at the three. They lifted him under the arms and hauled him out of the car. 

"There you go, Mr. Jasson," Faleron said and patted him on the back. 

"I can't believe you kidnapped him!" Lalasa reproached Joren, while Keladry leaned against the silver hover car clutching her head still. He glared at her.

"We didn't kidnap him! He hid in the trunk!"

"You _kidnapped_ him!" Lalasa exclaimed. "No one intentionally locks themselves in a trunk and knocks themselves out! I always knew you were cruel, Joren Stone, but this--"

Roald shook his head clear and started to support himself. "They didn't do anything. I kidnapped myself."

Cleon's eyes widened. "Really?" He grinned. "That's so cool! So, what? Are you going to hold yourself for ransom? Hey! You can get your own parents to come home and pay to have you back! That's so awesome!"

"He ran away, you dolt," Joren smacked him in the back of the head. Cleon pouted.

"Well, it could happen."

Joren studied the politician's son. "He has food and clothing in that bag, I'm assuming. He'll be fine. Let's get out of here before the DJPF come to do a sweep search over this area."

"Wait! Please, take me with you," Roald begged. "I can't be caught by them. I can't stand it here! I'll go crazy if I stay!"

"Let's have him come with us," Lalasa nodded. Roald was very attractive, and he had that fresh innocent face that was very rare in people his age. "We can't just leave him here, Stone."

Joren didn't reply at first. Then he started toward the restroom. "Whatever. We leave within the next ten minutes. Buy your food and get in the car."

Roald grinned. "Thanks a lot."

"Oh, it's nothing," Lalasa replied, taking his arm. "Now, you just sit yourself in the back with the rest of the guys and rest. The Vice President's handsome, noble son running away. Hmm… And now joining us on our quest to find the truth about the government. I bet you could help us."

Roald blushed. She was flattering him. "I don't know what you guys are doing."

"I'll tell you in the car," she replied and patted his arm. Then she let go and opened the passenger side door. Joren came back. He put on his helmet, stretched out his arms over his head, then got on his bike. Keladry drove and Lalasa sat in shotgun while the three males sat in the back.

"If I had come along, this wouldn't have happened," Faleron muttered.

"Aww, it's not so bad, Ice cream Pants," Cleon shrugged. 

"First Thief-Boy, then Ice cream Pants? Why can't you people leave me alone with the names? It's so undignified," Faleron huffed. He leaned toward the window to his left. "Not to mention the seating is cramped."

"Just be glad I don't feel like reaching across Roald here to get you," Cleon stuck his tongue out. He whispered to the unlucky young man in the middle. "Be careful he doesn't steal your wallet."

"What did you say?" Faleron demanded.

"I didn't say anything."

"Uh…" Roald stammered.

"SHUT UP!" Keladry yelled. "I am on my last nerve here, guys!"

And then, there was blessed silence.

~~

Author: Whoa… that was long. I guess it makes up for the last couple of days, huh? Anyway, I have a school project that requires attention and a grade to raise (why the hell am **_I _**of all people getting a B- in English? ENGLISH!).

Closing Credits:

Special thanks to those who helped me with descriptions:

( Note: these people are VERY cool. Do not mess with them.)

Kestrel

Erin (Hyper Girl to the Rescue)

Sullychkk (Whose name is Caitie…)

And also to the people who volunteered to help with my web page:

FireLily

Jaelawyn Noble 

And if anyone is good with fixing web pages, please e-mail me. My e-mail is listed at top.

And the NEWLY FIXED profiles for ICBW:

[http://www.geocities.com/silvrblade.geo/silverdragon/fanfics/futurekel.html][2]

[http://www.geocities.com/silvrblade.geo/silverdragon/fanfics/futurejoren.html][3]

[http://www.geocitiescom/silvrblade.geo/silverdragon/fanfics/futureneal.html][4]

[http://www.geocities.com/silvrblade.geo/silverdragon/fanfics/futureowen.html][5]

[http://www.geocities.com/silvrblade.geo/silverdragon/fanfics/futurecleon.html][6]

[http://www.geocites.com/silvrblade.geo/silverdragon/fanfics/futurefaleron.html][7]

and the two brand new profiles…

[http://www.geocities.com/silvrblade.geo/silverdragon/fanfics/futurelalasa.html][8]

[http://www.geocities.com/silvrblade.geo/silverdragon/fanfics/futureroald.html][9]

Thanks for all the comments on the music and the drawings for Kel and Joren. I have a really nice surprise for you guys, but I won't be done for quite a while. Wish me luck!

   [1]: mailto:silverwLng@aol.com
   [2]: http://www.geocities.com/silvrblade.geo/silverdragon/fanfics/futurekel.html
   [3]: http://www.geocities.com/silvrblade.geo/silvdragon/fanfics/futurejoren.html
   [4]: http://www.geocitiescom/silvrblade.geo/silverdragon/fanfics/futureneal.html
   [5]: http://www.geocities.com/silvrblade.geo/silverdragon/fanfics/futureowen.html
   [6]: http://www.geocities.com/silvrblade.geo/silverdragon/fanfics/futurecleon.html
   [7]: http://www.geocites.com/silvrblade.geo/silverdragon/fanfics/futurefaleron.html
   [8]: http://www.geocities.com/silvrblade.geo/silverdragon/fanfics/futurelalasa.html
   [9]: http://www.geocities.com/silvrblade.geo/silverdragon/fanfics/futureroald.html



	11. I'm Not A Criminal!

It Could Be Worse

Episode 11: I'm Not A Criminal!

By Sulia Serafine

[1-24-01. A Protector of the Small fanfic set in an alternate universe; all credit goes to Tamora Pierce. I'm broke, so you can't sue me.

Oh, one more thing: BAD LANGUAGE (I. E. cursing, swearing…). You have been warned!

E-mail me at [silverwLng@aol.com][1], okay? Thank you and have a nice day.

P.S. I've fixed the PROFILES for EVERYONE. You can now see Kel, Joren (those two are the longest loading. Be patient), Neal, Owen, Cleon, Faleron, Lalasa, and Roald. And, of course, they are still screwy. I guess that means I have to work on my web page (although I really, really don't feel like it).]

"We're wanted by the DJPF?" Keladry said in a small voice. They gathered around the counter of a trucker's pit stop. The six people's eyes were glued to the holo-screen. A reporter for channel 5 news was reading off descriptions as well as displaying pictures of Joren, Keladry, and Cleon. Their images were framed in a startling bright shade of red-- the same red used on warning labels of harmful chemicals. Words scrolled beside the picture-- physical statistics. The reporter went on to say…

"_These three former DJPF members of Tortall and Tusaine have been charged as of 3:20 AM this Copper City morning for the kidnapping of Roald Jasson, the Vice President's son and for altering the tax records and city budget within the Mayor's personal offices to frame Mayor Veldine…_"

"Frame! He's the one who--" Cleon exclaimed in rage before Lalasa clamped a hand over his mouth. She glared at him and let go. People were looking at the young group of men and women. They whispered among themselves and thought best to keep to themselves. The titter among the diner's patrons gradually faded as the news continued.

"_A tie and a Cavall University Blazer were found in the woods…"_

Roald gulped. He thought to his self, "They didn't find my note?"

"This is such bull!" 

"Shh!" Keladry held up her finger to her lips.

Joren grabbed Faleron's hat from the thief's head and yanked it down over Cleon's eyes. "Just shut up and walk out. And turn down the volume of that holo-screen." The blonde glared at them all before putting on a pair of sunglasses and keeping his head low. Keladry, having neither hat nor sunglasses, just brushed all her bangs into her face and turned her gaze downward. They couldn't let anyone see their faces well. But they also had to be inconspicuous. "Let's go. We have to get out of this sector as soon as possible. And R--" he wanted to say the name. But the middle-aged waitress in the light blue uniform was giving them the evil eye. "Just get over here!"

Roald moved forward, scratching the back of his head. He whispered, "I'm so sorry about this. I didn't think they would frame you."

"Doesn't matter now. Just get in the car and keep your head down." He clutched the back of Roald's collar. He roughly shoved him out the diner, as any officer would do a suspect with handcuffs. The others followed orderly and obediently, not wishing to arouse even more suspicion from the public eye of the people.

The young men, excluding Joren, filed into the back seat. Roald remained in the middle with Faleron to the right and Cleon to the left. Keladry started the car while Joren put away his sunglasses and put on his helmet. Lalasa turned nervously to look at Roald. She looked like she was about to say something, but didn't. She shrank down in her seat.

When they were five miles out, Roald broke the silence. "I left a note."

"You what?" Lalasa blinked

He made himself a bit louder. "I left a note. It was a big fat note that I taped to the top of my bed in _my_ handwriting. It was saying that I was running away. And that my Mom shouldn't worry. Didn't they see it?"

"They saw it all right," Faleron replied. He shook his finger at the screen. "But in either case of kidnapping or running away, the DJPF of Copper is obligated to check the premises. Mayor Veldine knew they would find the fake records in the office computers. Naturally, they probably decided to kill two birds with one stone. The dirt bags tore up the note, saw the cameras before the DJPF did, and adjusted it so they had Kel and Stone come near your room. And here we are."

Cleon slammed his right fist into his left palm. "Man! But I'm not a criminal! I wasn't in that mansion! How come they put my picture up there with Keladry and Joren?"

"You were assigned to them. And if you're missing along with them, then you're a suspect," Lalasa sighed. She fiddled with the radio music, trying to drown out everything else with new age rock. No one protested.

Until the redhead spoke up again… "Hey, guys. Did my hair really look that bad on the holo-screen?"

"Hair gel, Kennan. Hair gel," Faleron nodded.

"Could you stop that?" Keladry growled. She glanced in the mirror to see them. "This is serious. It hasn't even been that long since we left Mr. Trebond's and now we're wanted by our own."

Roald shifted around uncomfortably. He didn't know what to say. It was his fault. He shouldn't have hid in their car. It was stupid and foolish for him to think he could leave the path set for him by everyone who knew best. "I think I should go back. It would be best for me to go home and clear everything up."

Lalasa twisted the volume knob down to nothing and turned around her seat again. "Are you sure that's what you want to do?" Before he could speak, she started again. "It better not be for us. Don't do anything for us. Do it for yourself."

"This _is_ for myself," he insisted. "I belong there-- in that world. It's where I came from."

"We can't," Keladry said evenly. "We have to see what else happens. There might be more surprises." She came to a stop sign and glanced at the black clad biker in front of her. He turned around to look at them and then rode off. She sighed and pressed down on the pedal lightly.

Cleon, combing his hair with his hand, shrugged. "If the guy wants to go home, let him go. It's his decision."

Faleron shook his head. "Don't go, Jasson."

"But I can tell them the truth!" the future politician protested.

"Yeah, you can tell the truth. But who will believe you? The mayor's been getting greedier if you haven't noticed. He'll tell the free world that we threatened you not to say a word. He'll say that you cut a deal with us to steal from Veldine and run away a second time."

"My mother and father would not allow it!"

"Your mom and dad aren't here. They're overseas, right?"

He flinched. Faleron had a point. There was nothing he could do but stay with them. "Okay then." His expression was purely apologetic. "I'll work for my own food. I can promise you that."

"Oh, just like one of those fake campaign promises?" Cleon laughed.

"What? But--"

"Nothing. Obviously _everyone's_ sense of humor is gone today," he muttered while leaning his chin on his palm.

~~

A couple hours later, they were at another resting station. The three Dominion Jewel Protection Force members were officially incognito. Cleon now kept Faleron's bowler hat yanked over his wild red hair. Joren either stuck with his helmet or sunglasses. And Keladry bought a cheap baseball cap to wear on her head. It was blue with a little cat logo on the front. Lalasa had picked it out.

"It looks cute," the older girl assured her. "I've seen your wardrobe, Kel, and you need something cheery like this."

"My clothing isn't _meant_ to be cheery," she dryly replied.

Lalasa tapped her nose. "And maybe that's why you _aren't_ cheery. Just relax, like me. See?" She stretched out on the bench outside the cluster of bathrooms. The tips of branches brushed against her dark hair from where the trees hung over them. "Just find something to keep yourself occupied."

Keladry studied her, picking apart at the hints of emotion in each gesture Lalasa made. It was frustrating sometimes how Lalasa could be a normal girl one moment, and an extraordinary girl the next moment-- and then, not a girl, but a powerful woman in control. Keladry's life was spinning out of control. After all her hard work, after everything she sacrificed…

She took a deep breath and sat down. "Can I ask you something?"

The Carthakian sat up. "Sure."

"How do you do it?"

"Do what?"

Keladry shrugged a little nervously. "You know, stay in control."

Lalasa giggled. "I'm not in control. What are you talking about?"

"Yes you are," Keladry said stubbornly. She folded her arms tightly against her abdomen. "You have a way of staying balanced and secure in your own thoughts. I can't possibly do that." She looked around them to see if anyone was listening. She scooted closer to her on the bench. "My thoughts torture me every moment of the day." Keladry pulled in her knees to her chest. "And I _know_ everyone can tell. I _know_ they see it written all over my face."

"You must be joking," Lalasa rolled her eyes. She cupped her chin and lifted her head up. "Whenever I see you, your face is blank. All you energy goes into keeping that barrier between you and other people. Why? Is it to keep them from getting in your way? So you can reach your goal without any distractions?"

"But it's a damn blindfold as well as a barrier," Keladry whispered. "I keep stumbling around. I _want_ control! I need it or else I can't breathe easy at all. I'm not in control like you."

She let out a deep breath and swung her legs back and forth. "Yeah. I guess." As if by habit, she started finding a lock of dark hair around her finger. "I thought that Fal was the in-control one."

"Yes. Faleron's confidence puts him in control. And yes, even more than you I admit it, but it's not the same. I see him screw up just as much as he succeeds and he balances. But you don't screw up."

"Honey, everyone screws up. I'm just lucky enough not to have anyone around when I do." She tucked her hair behind one ear and licked her lips. It was strange having a woman-to-woman talk with Keladry. The younger one seemed to be breaking down right in front of her. She cleared her throat and sat straighter. When the tree branch came in contact with her head, she tilted her head. "And don't think my self-esteem or ego has anything to do with luck. There's no such thing as luck except bad luck." Her eyes misted over. She gazed out into the distance. 

"For the latter of my life, no one was around." She let out a shaky laugh and toed a rock with her shoe. "When your father is the notorious rebel leader who takes lives of the innocent in the so-called name of the good, you try not to have him around. You try not to have _anyone_ around." 

She stood up. "Sometimes, strangers make the best company when compared to the company of your own father-- or any family member. Maybe if I'd met my mother, then things would be different. I don't know." She put her hands in her pants pocket. She leaned to one side and stretched out one leg. Then she did the same with the other. "I guess you could say that's why I flirt. I'm not all about guys. Just strangers who don't know you and who won't know you." She smiled. "Yeah, I guess that's why."

Keladry looked up at her with a newfound sense of sympathy mixed in with her admiration. "Am I a stranger?"

"Yeah. I don't know _that_ much about you."

"Oh."

"How was it while you grew up, sugar?"

The female officer raised her invisible mask on as naturally as she could. She tugged on the brim of her baseball cap. "I'm afraid I was the one to keep my family at bay and turn them into strangers. I was so caught up with my role model that I didn't even see when they stopped trying to reach me. For the longest time, they tried to get me to have fun. And then…"

Lalasa nodded. She spontaneously stomped her foot on the ground and put her hands on her hips. "You know what? This is getting way too, depressing. I think I'll go talk to Roald."

"You consider him a stranger?"

She grinned. "Yeah. And if strangers make the better friends, then that's exactly how I'm going to keep him."

Keladry watched her walk back to the car. A thought came to her. "Lalasa!"

"Huh? What is it?"

"Don't you ever get lonely like that?"

The other young woman laughed. "You know, you're a fine one to talk. Are _you _lonely, Kel?"

"I'm sorry," she said.

"Don't worry about it. See you in the car."

Keladry got up and walked to the edge of the sidewalk. There was some commotion going on behind her. She could hear the banging noises like someone was kicking glass and plastic. Cleon was shouting at a vending machine while Faleron leaned on it, munching on a large pretzel. Finally, he gave up. The redhead now started to punch the coin return button repetitiously.

"Hey, Officer," Faleron said after swallowing a bit of his food. He jerked a thumb toward his friend. "As you can see, Cleon just got into a fight with a pile of metal and plastic and lost."

She allowed herself a slight smirk, identical to the thief's. 

"That's so not fair! I want my money back!"

Faleron generously held out his hand. "You can have a piece of my pretzel. It's very tasty."

"I don't want your stupid pretzel."

"Come now, I'll have you know that pretzels have an I. Q. of 1.00134--"

"Oh, shut up, Fal!"

Faleron grinned. He began eating his pretzel again. Cleon's face was nearly as red as his hair, from all the physical exertion of kicking the vending machine and the embarrassment the thief was giving him. Keladry narrowed her eyes at Faleron, who only grinned wider. 

"Stop teasing him," she reprimanded.

"I don't need you to stand up for me!" Cleon sat down on the ground with his legs crossed and folded. He tucked his hands near under his armpits and pouted. Faleron burst into a fit of laughter and took his hat from the redhead. He spun it around on one hand while stuffing the last of his food in his mouth. "Aww, look at this! Hat hair?"

"Yeah, hats are capable of doing that to you."

"Shut _up_, Faleron!"

Keladry nervously ran a finger under the brim of her own blue hat. She wondered absently whether she had hat hair. And then she went as far to wonder if Joren had helmet hair. "Forget that," she thought, slightly peeved. "He is incapable of helmet hair."

"Hair gel, Kennan, what do I keep telling you?"

She left the two comrades alone and walked into the parking lot. She could see the outlines of Lalasa and Roald sitting in the car. And faintly, she could hear them talking. Roald seemed nice. He looked too serious to her, probably a product of years under etiquette classes and being told his expectations. He could have ended up like Cleon, fighting to keep everyone laughing so he could bask in it while he could. 

__

"I don't know why I'm telling you this," Cleon said as they walked back to their rooms in the Academy. "But you look like you listen, even if you're trying to remain emotionless." He snickered. "I'll tell you something, you can't pull it off. To be emotionless is to be a jackass like Stone there downstairs. You're just trying to remain distanced. And I can respect that."

"You like to talk a lot," she remarked with a raised eyebrow. "I know more about you than I know about my own brother and it's only been three days."

"Yeah, people tell me that. I like to tell people my favorite things. My best experiences. It brings everyone closer and everyone's happy…" He bit his lip. His voice lowered to a whisper. "At home, my parents were really strict. And stiff. They could be Stone's parents for crying out loud. I was a kid. I needed to burn my energy with jokes and pranks and whatever I could do just so I couldn't see the fact that they wished I wasn't there. Like they could have lived better without me. And so, I laugh all the time. It beats being like them."

She nodded. They reached his room. "Is that why you fell into the pond?"

"Oh, now that's complete different," he chuckled. "Okay, okay. Maybe not… but I'll explain it some other time. See you later!"

And then, he could have been like Faleron.

__

"My parents? I never saw them. Not until their faces were on the news. My mother was yelling at my father while moving men were repossessing the house and a Councilman was throwing him out of office. A few bystanders were screaming at him." He started fiddling with his shirt buttons, removing a lose thread. "I wasn't deprived of love and affection though. My uncle and aunt were fantastic. When I came home from boarding school, I lived with them and my cousin Merric." He dropped the thread into the trash bin. "Merric thought the world of me. It was plain fact. He always followed me around, tried to copy my actions."

He put his hands behind his head. "Like one time, when I just turned 17 and he was 10, he saw me shaving in my room. And the little fellow took a tiny handful of the shaving cream and smeared it on his face-- as well as his clothes and the whole bathroom counter. Hmm…I suppose the young chap would be ashamed to know what I'm doing now, wouldn't you say, Officer?"

Keladry turned away from the car and walked to the opposite side of the parking lot. She'd had about enough of all the heartfelt talks with everyone. She was sick of hearing how everyone had problems. Was there not one person among them that had a great family life? Keladry ignored her loving family. Cleon had strict parents. Faleron had neglecting ones. Lalasa had a notorious one. Roald had controlling ones. And Joren had--

Joren was seated on his bike, reaching down to wipe something off an exposed part of the engine below. He turned his head and looked at her --well, maybe not at her. He was wearing sunglasses still. The cold operative took off his the dark shades and gave her a once over before getting off his motorcycle and walking away.

"Bad mood as always," she thought and turned on her heel. She hoped Lalasa didn't mind that she wanted to get into the car and destroy her private talk with the Vice President's handsome son.

"Keladry, good. It's you." Lalasa saw her coming and got out of the car. "I just received a call from my father."

The DJPF officer's eyes locked on the other girl. "What did you just say?"

"He called me!" She grabbed Keladry's hand and squeezed it a little. "I was so scared of what he'd say. I was supposed to stay in Carthak."

"But he didn't tell you anything before he left."

"Yeah, well, it wasn't an excuse in any way. Whenever he goes out of town, I'm to stay in Carthak. Then he found out from Uncle Thom that I left. Uncle Thom didn't tell him that I was with you, but V--" she stopped herself. "Uh, some guy saw us at the Crypt together and later saw the three of you on the news because of Roald."

The remaining men in their traveling group showed up, having seen Lalasa's distressed expression from afar. She repeated the story to them while Roald leaned out of the back seat window with a look of concern.

"What else did he say?"

"He wants us to get out of the country. All of us."

"Even us?" Keladry questioned. "But he knows us. He knows we tried to bust him and that's why he had to hide."

Lalasa sighed. "I know. But he said he saw how you were rebelling against the government too by, uh, kidnapping Roald--"

"You let him think that?" Cleon gasped. "Oh, man! Now I know we're screwed!"

"It's better for him to think we're on his side," Joren said evenly. He folded his arms and stared at Lalasa. "He's going to help us, isn't he?"

She nodded. "There's a friend of his that will get us out of the country, across the Emerald Ocean. He won't do anything to Roald. I begged him not to, or at least wait until he could organize something. We just have to get out of here and hide in, like, the Yamanis. I've heard great things about that country."

"Calm down, we'll go, " Faleron said. He looked over her shoulder at Roald.

"Are you coming with us?"

"I don't have anywhere else to go," he replied.

"Good."

Cleon raised his hand. "No one gets seasick, do they?"

"And you do?"

"No!" The redhead blushed. "I just remember traveling with my ex-girlfriend on a ferry once and she got really nauseous…"

~~

They traveled to the coast within three days where Ozorne Tasikhe's friend was waiting. Lalasa was trembling as they strode down the pier to the boat. It was old, rusting on the deck with a dreary cabin and the words "Back from the Dead" painted sloppily on the lower part of the cabin door. She paused before stepping onto the plank, muttering something to herself.

"You're not starting to feel sick, are you?" Cleon asked. "If you get seasick, you can tell us."

"Yes, are you ill?" Roald asked.

"I've never been out of Carthak, let alone an ocean, but no. I'm not seasick," she said as they filed onto the deck. There were footsteps from the cabin as the door opened. A man resembling Roald (but older, taller, and stockier) came up the steps and greeted them with a mischievous smile. He stroked his short beard as he looked upon them.

"Ah, Lalasa. You've grown up to be such a beautiful young lady."

"Thank you," she replied shyly. After a few moments of silence, she spoke again. "Oh, sorry. Um, guys, this is Roger Conté, and sir, these are the ones Father told you about."

He nodded knowingly, going back down into the cabin. "Why don't you bring your stuff on board, Lalasa?"

They stared at the opened door and listened to the sounds Roger made as he tidied up. The latter of them had wide eyes and open mouths. Even Joren looked astonished, an emotion he didn't display often. Faleron regained his dignified look and cleared his throat. "Uh, Miss Isran, did you say his name was Roger Conté?"

"Yeah, that's what I thought she said, too," Cleon nodded vigorously.

"It _is_ what I said," she answered. "Because it's true. He's a relative of the president."

Roald frowned. "I've never heard of him."

"You wouldn't. He separated from the rest of the Contés before Jonathan Conté came into office." She wound a lock of hair around her finger again and started to walk across the plank onto the pier. "Let's get our things and do as he says. Okay?"

It took a total of three minutes before anyone actually composed him or herself and followed her. The boat was big enough to bring aboard Joren's bike, but they had to sell the hover car to a black toothed man five minutes away from the pier. Faleron was very proud of himself. He'd managed to get the man to pay more for the car than the actual cost. 

"Whose car was it anyway?" Roald asked Keladry.

"Uh, I don't think that's important," Cleon said before she could speak. He yanked Keladry away, muttering something about rentals.

And so, they spent five days crossing the Emerald Ocean. Keladry would often see Lalasa talking quietly with Roald on the prow of the ship. The Carthakian was so nervous around Roger. She couldn't blame her. The man spooked her as well. Faleron played poker with some Roger's men when they weren't busy, always winning some extra money for the group. And when he wasn't, he and Cleon stuck around the stern of the ship and cracked jokes-- each trying to outwit the other. Faleron won with his clever phrases, but Cleon pulled better pranks and was physically more comical. Roger himself stayed by the helm, talking with someone through his communications system or reading a map. He was trying to find a spot on the foreign coast to sneak them through. And Joren spent a lot of time in his quarters, shared with Roald, Cleon, and Faleron. Lalasa and Keladry took the Roger's private cabin while the captain himself bunked with his crew. And sometimes, Joren could be found checking up on his bike in steerage.

On the last day, Keladry had serious thoughts of calling Neal or Owen. She was used to someone talking while she listened. And on the trip, she was singled out as the one with nothing to do. Not that the rest of her group meant to do it intentionally-- they just didn't pay attention. 

"Land ho!" Lalasa called out gleefully from the prow. She skipped up to Keladry. "Finally! We get off this ship!"

"Yeah," Keladry nodded. The others arrived because they heard the Carthakian's shout. 

Roger called out to them from his post. "Enjoy your time in Tyra. Just be sure to keep low."

"We will. Thank you, sir," Lalasa replied. She inched nervously away. Roald put a hand on her shoulder.

"The Yamanis," Cleon grinned. "I think I'm going to like this place." He leaned out over the rail. "Hey! There's a girl tanning on that beach over there!" He twisted around to face them. "Can we possibly get dropped off over there?"

~~

Author: And in closing, I'd like to tell you some news. I'm going to be busy this upcoming week (school is not the reason this time, miraculously, although it will in _two_ weeks) and I'm not going to get chapters out as fast. Maybe one chapter a week. Why? I have my first ever race. The excitement is building… No, I'm not in Track or anything. To tell you the truth, I'm a rower. And my novice regatta is next week. I don't know if anyone reading this is also a rower, but that's the reason why I'm going to be lazy with the next few chapters (which I'll tell you right now are very critical to the main plot of the story. It's better I take my time so I can be sure to get everything perfect). Please review. The more reviews, the more I'm tempted to skip homework and practice so I can write.

-Sulia Serafine

Closing Credits:

Special thanks to those who helped me with descriptions:

( Note: These people are VERY cool. Do not mess with them.)

Kestrel

Erin (Hyper Girl to the Rescue)

Sullychkk (Whose name is Caitie…)

And also to the people who volunteered to help with my web page:

FireLily

Jaelawyn Noble 

   [1]: mailto:silverwLng@aol.com



	12. How To Make Money When You're On The Run...

It Could Be Worse

Episode 12: How To Make Money When You're On The Run…

By Sulia Serafine

[1-27-01. A Protector of the Small fanfic set in an alternate universe; all credit goes to Tamora Pierce. I'm broke, so you can't sue me.

Oh, one more thing: BAD LANGUAGE (I. E. cursing, swearing…). You have been warned!

E-mail me at [silverwLng@aol.com][1], okay? Thank you and have a nice day.

P.S. Just as I said in the last episode: If more people review, I post another episode. So, seeing that I'm neglecting both school and practice, please enjoy the following episode!]

For the first few days in Tyra, they lived in an inn near the docks. The rooms were cramped and dirty, but they were cheap. Keladry often had to go under the sink of the bathroom and do her own plumbing. The roof leaked, the bed sheets had holes. The only thing assuring them of its safety was that the water was clean and there were no signs of rats or other pests. The innkeeper was a decrepit and grouchy old man with two snobby sons who came down every now and then and collect money from those guests unfortunate to be staying there.

The fourth morning, Lalasa was kneeling on the bathroom counter, scrubbing the mirror furiously with a cloth and sponge. It was getting less cloudy as she progressed and the Carthakian was determined to see her reflection. For the last few days, she'd resorted to looking at the side of a shiny metal toaster at the kitchen appliance store.

"Stupid mirror," she scowled. "Stupid inn. How long do we have to stay here, Kel?"

Keladry got up from the plain wooden floor where she had been doing push-ups and crunches all morning. A sweat spot had formed in the middle of her back. They were in lack of clothing at the moment, so Keladry was stuck wearing the one-piece field uniform. And instead of Hyperion bands on her legs, she wore a blue pair of cotton shorts borrowed from Lalasa. She brushed herself off. "We won't be here for much longer. Our money is running out. We'll have enough for the next week and that's it."

"What do you mean, the next week? In here with food, electricity, and running water?" She got down from the counter and rubbed her knees.

The female officer shook her head. "Just the food. Not this room with the running water."

"What happened to the money Fal got from selling the car?" Lalasa pouted.

"There _are_ six of us," she replied. "And with clothing replacements, food demands, and other necessary equipment to protect ourselves from anyone coming after us--"

"What, the DJPF?" Lalasa rolled her eyes. She growled. "We're in the Yamanis! Who will find us here?"

"Bounty hunters," Keladry shrugged. "I met one once. He was collecting his reward from the main offices. Trust me, we don't want to mess with bounty hunters. It's the same deal with assassins and professional agents." She frowned. "Once, I thought I was going to be better skilled than they. After all, _she_ was. But I guess she was the exception."

Lalasa nodded slowly. The other girl was talking about her former role- model again, Alanna Olau Trebond. It nearly broke her heart to see such a strong person like Keladry get punched-- punched by the irony of their situation: the good as the bad… the bad as the good… and a little bit of each mixed in between.

"You know, I think I'll just get some breakfast with Roald down the street. You need to concentrate on your exercises," she smiled warmly and put down the sponge and cloth. Then she untied her hair so it cascaded down her backside and stopped midway down her spine. "Don't work _too_ hard, Kel."

"I won't. I'm almost done. I'm _practically_ done," Kel called to her as Lalasa walked out the door of their room. She went back to the middle of the floor and lay on her back. She crossed her arms over her chest and bent her knees. Then she curled up halfway, and went back down. She continued doing crunches for the next ten minutes while staring up at the plaster ceiling.

For a long while, she wondered about how things were at Headquarters. Neal must be healthy again. She bet he already heard on the news about the three rebelling DJPF officers kidnapping the Vice President's son. Keladry didn't even dare guess what mood Commissioner Wyldon was in. He was probably tearing out what little hair he had left. A small chuckle escaped her lips as she wound down to her last set of ten. 

Her abdomen was on fire. It was the good kind of fire though. She could feel it burn her muscles, warning her that she would be sore and that increased muscles would gradually follow. 

"Three…" she gritted her teeth. "Two… One."

She dropped back onto the floor, folding her hands behind her head. Her bare elbows pointed above her, back to the ceiling she'd been staring at for the last ten minutes. It was like Keladry had had enough time to stay in the room and remember each cluster of plaster as it was sloppily made a decade ago.

"I've _got_ to get out of here," she muttered. "I'm actually starting to get fascinated by the ceiling."

She rolled over onto her stomach. Then she pushed herself up to stand. Keladry padded over on bare feet to the bathroom, intent on taking a shower to wash away the feeling you got from your sweaty skin and your grungy hair. She reached past the small shower door and turned the water on. Keladry twisted the knob towards hot and stuck her hand under the water. It would take about two to three minutes to get warm. 

She went back out the bathroom and grabbed the only set of clean clothing she had left. Lalasa was supposed to do the laundry, but the mirror had stolen her attention. It was Keladry's civilian clothing, the jeans and the shirt with the vest that were clean. And luckily, it was summer and Keladry didn't have to worry about buying extra clothing for winter just yet. 

"Supposing we get this all resolved before winter," she groaned and stepped back into the bathroom.

~~

"It's pretty hot out today, don't you think?"

"Uh, yeah."

"Wish I could go for a swim at the beach if Joren weren't so uptight about keeping us in the same area," Lalasa said with another one of her pouts. She blew her hair out of her eyes and glanced over at her companion.

Roald sat nervously, moving his white plastic straw around in his tall blue cup. He stabbed at the rapidly melting ice cubes that bobbed around in his drink. Since they were in a different country and news of Mithros didn't reach the Yamanis (for what was one country's dilemma was no concern to another); he wasn't forced to wear any disguise. Still, he felt like someone might pounce at him at any moment.

"Roald!"

"Ah!" The mild-mannered politician's son bolted upright in his seat when a hand had clamped down on his shoulder and scared him half to death. His eyes widened to the size of frying pans as he turned around and faced Cleon. "Please don't do that!"

"Yes, Kennan," Faleron smirked. He tipped his hat to Lalasa in his usual gentlemanly fashion and addressed his comrade again. "You almost gave the chap a heart attack, and _then_ where would the rest of us be?"

"Aww, that was nothing," the redhead shrugged. He sat down in the empty chair under the shady yellow umbrella of their outdoor table. "So, guys, what's up?"

Lalasa sighed. "Nothing. Not one darn thing."

"That sounds pretty boring," he laughed. "Faleron and I have been walking around the marketplace all day trying to find jobs! After all, our money is running out…"

"Money that I haggled to get," the thief reminded. "I sold the car for at least a tenth over its usual cost."

"Yeah, yeah. It doesn't matter now. What matters now is a source of income." He drummed his fingers on the table, something he normally didn't do. Something habitual he _did_ start to do was whistle. After half a minute of whistling like a bird, he pounded his fist on the metal grid table. "I got it!"

"What?" Roald asked, shocked again by Cleon's sudden action. "Do you have an idea for a job?"

"What if we hire ourselves out as bodyguards? I'm an ex DJPF officer," he pointed to himself. "And hey, I'm a sharpshooter, too! There are tons of officials that go in and out of Tyra everyday because of their traditional ways of consulting Council members face to face."

"Oh, please," Lalasa said. "Someone's bound to notice us. Foreign news reaches Councilmen and officials first, if they reach anyone at all. It would be much easier to get simple jobs. I could be a waitress," she shrugged reluctantly. "I mean, I wouldn't like it, but if it means no starvation, then I'm all for it."

"They need guys at the dock all the time," Roald said. "I could handle shipping jobs at the docks."

"No. People come in and out through Tyra's docks all the time. I'm surprised we sneaked through customs," Cleon said while folding his arms. "I think you should just stick with me and Fal. Right, F--" He turned around. No one was there. He blinked. "Faleron?"

Lalasa and Cleon exchanged worried looks. 

"Not again…"

"Where did he go?"

Cleon stood up and stretched. "He does this whenever we start to ignore him."

"Then we really need to start learning how to pay attention to him," she sighed and also stood. Roald looked back and forth between them. He was completely confused.

"What's going on? What about Faleron?"

She scratched her head. "It's routine by now. Fal disappears and we find him in the marketplace having a shopping, er, stealing spree. You see?"

"Oh… I see," Roald nodded. "Do you want me to help?"

Cleon gave him a thumbs-up. "Sure, man! In fact… why don't you come with me and Lalasa goes to find her waitress job."

She jabbed him in the shoulder. "Well, thanks a lot, Cleon. I think I'll get myself a job and earn us some money while the three of you boys play hide and seek. Free-loaders."

"Aww, 'Lasa! That stings," Cleon over exaggerated. He flashed her a grin. "Come on, Roald. Let's go."

"Right. Good bye, Lalasa. Good luck with your job hunt." He smiled gently toward her. His calm features set in the extremely serious face charmed her like no other. It was hard keeping him distanced from her emotionally. He had the natural capacity to attract people to him with his quiet strength. At this rate, Lalasa might even promote him from being a stranger.

"I've _got_ to get a grip," she murmured and walked in the opposite direction as they. Unbeknownst to her, Roald glanced back at her from over his shoulder, still smiling.

~~

Keladry frowned. She pulled her hand back from out of the shower. The water was still cold. Someone must be taking a shower in the guys' room. Cleon often scheduled his showers at the same time to annoy her. And she'd have to go into his room and bang on the bathroom door to tell him to hurry up.

She slipped her feet into some flat bottom shoes and left her room. Then she went to the next door down and entered the guy's room. There were three beds-- one double and two singles. This was set up because Joren wanted his own bed, Cleon _had_ to have his own bed because he kicked the covers in his sleep, and they didn't want to waste any more money on singles so Roald and Faleron had to split the last one. She noticed how the double was neatly folded and the pillows arranged, as well as Joren's, and then Cleon's was still a mess. 

"Typical," she chuckled inwardly and walked to the bathroom door. She knocked on it softly, since she could no longer hear running water of the shower. "Hey, Cleon! Please tell me you're done. I'd like some hot water."

She got no response. Of course, just to annoy her some more… Keladry decided to trudge back to her room when the bathroom door opened. Joren stepped out, a white towel wrapped around his narrow hips. His hair and body were still glistening with water from the shower. It turned out that he was pretty lean. His muscles were taut, as if just waiting for the opportunity to be used in action. She gulped and turned her back to him.

"Uh, sorry. I thought you were Kennan."

He raised one eyebrow suspiciously. "Right. Sure. Could you hand me my pants?"

If there were an option to crawl into a hole and die of embarrassment, Keladry would have taken it. She picked up the black jeans and went to Joren, her eyes mostly downcast. After all, it wasn't every day that she had to give a handsome young man his pants. He took the pants from her, went back in the bathroom, and closed the door in her face. But as he had turned around, she had looked up and noticed some burn scars on his back.

"What happened to him?" she asked silently. Then Keladry realized she should get out and then she privately scolded herself for barging into the room. As she was walking away, the door opened again.

"And lock the door on your way out," Joren said as he poked his head out from the bathroom. She nodded and the door closed again.

She went back to her room, continually scolding herself and blushing furiously. For the rest of her trip, she would just take showers whether or not they were hot. She wouldn't enjoy it, but Keladry would never go into their room again.

~~

Faleron tugged down on the front brim on his bowler hat, tilting it to the right side. He winked at a girl across the table sitting in another man's lap. With a smooth, confident voice, he said, "I raise you ten."

The other men at the table stared at him in disbelief. 

"The little pip squeak thinks he can beat you, Claude."

The man seated directly across from Faleron with the brunette in his lap laughed throatily. "Don't discourage him. Let's try his luck. I'll meet your ten and raise you another ten."

There was a chorus of "oohs" all around. Faleron glanced out the window and into the marketplace. Surprisingly, Cleon and Roald were walking by. They seemed to be looking for someone.

"Oh, that's right," he thought. "They're looking for me." He looked down at the straight in his hands. Maybe his opponent had better. He probably did, but Faleron could bluff his way to victory. He stared the pock-faced man straight in the eye and said, "Fine. I see your ten and raise you five."

The man stared at him in disbelief. They had been bidding for quite a while now and this was making him nervous. No one in their right mind would be bidding so much unless they had something like a straight flush, or maybe even a royal flush. The brunette wrapping her arms around her neck frowned. 

"I fold," he said reluctantly. 

"I thank you kindly," Faleron said and laid down his cards. The man gaped at him.

"You… you little…" He turned over his cards. The man had had a full house.

Faleron scooped the money into the crook of his arm, took off his hat, dumped it in there, and bowed to the men. "It's been a pleasure playing cards with you fellows… Perhaps we can get together again and try your luck?"

"Get this punk!" the other man roared, and everyone leapt into action. Faleron, the odds against him, ran out the door straight into two pedestrians. He fell to the ground, barely keeping his money from spilling out onto the street. Cleon and Roald grabbed him by the arms and hauled him up while three burly men in dock clothes stomped out.

"There you are," Roald said. "At least he wasn't stealing anything, right Cleon?"

Cleon stared at the three angry men whom Faleron had been playing cards with. "Uh, actually, I'd rather he had…"

"I'm gonna snap you like a twig!" the man in the middle yelled and came at them.

So, Faleron, thinking existentially within the matter of a second as he had the ability to, weighed his choices and which choices were best for his individual existence-- as well as his two friends. He could face the three furious men when he did not possess any weapons. If he knew Cleon, the guy probably had one gun tucked into his waistband. Joren had been strict about Cleon not using it in public lest anyone see it and turn them in. Roald had no weapon, and Faleron had no idea whether he could fight or not. 

Not that he had the guts to fight three taller, beefier men with "I'm going to kill you" etched into their expressions.

"Run," he squeaked.

And they took off down the road.

~~

Lalasa put on her new uniform and picked up the apron. So, she was a waitress. She had to serve others in a homey little restaurant three blocks away from their ragged inn. She tied her hair up in a bun. "Sir? What's my salary?"

"We can discuss that later after the shift is over. Go out and take orders," the cook called.

"Okay," she said. She paused. "Do you think my friends could get jobs here? We're all in need of jobs…"

The cook wiped his greasy hands on a towel. He was middle aged with a big shaven chin and a hawk-like nose. He shrugged. "Yeah, I guess. I need another cook and couple of busboys."

She smiled. "Cool."

By the end of the day, Lalasa called Keladry and Joren down to the restaurant since the other three young men still hadn't made it home. It was about 7:15 PM and the restaurant was full of its usual customers. Keladry walked around a table, tying her apron a little tighter so it didn't get in the way. She observed her other friend take orders politely from a graying woman in the back.

"May I take your order?" Keladry said to herself. She shook her head and smiled. Then she gathered up the used dishes into her plastic bin and carried them to the back.

Being a busboy, er, girl wasn't too exciting. But she got paid and that was all. Joren had actually taken the position as short order cook when it was revealed that she burnt things and he didn't. Where in the world had _he_ learned to cook? Keladry didn't expect for a biker/ operative with a nasty disposition to cook so well.

Well, better than _she did_.

"Mindelan, get your butt back here and wash the damn dishes," Joren called. She growled and hurried her pace. She set the bin down and piled the dishes into one sink where a sizable amount of dirty dishes had accumulated. The blonde glanced at her while flipping meat patties expertly on the indoor grill. 

And Keladry couldn't help but glance at him. Joren was wearing a short sleeved black shirt-- when didn't he wear black? -- and the mandatory apron that tied around his neck and around his waist. She glimpsed part of a burn scar on his right arm, just under the sleeve. 

"What happened to him?" she wondered again for the second time that day.

"Take a picture. It lasts longer."

She reddened and turned away. "Sorry."

He glared at her some more until Lalasa came.

"Order's up," he said and handed her a plate of cheeseburgers and fries.

The night continued on. Keladry alternated between picking up dirty dishes and washing them. Joren cooked. Lalasa took orders and served them. Somewhere around ten o'clock, Roald, Cleon, and Faleron stumbled in, all extremely exhausted and looking a little worse than usual. Lalasa noticed their bruises and frowned.

"And what happened to you three?"

Roald and Cleon glared at the resident thief. He shrugged and showed her his hat. "At least I made enough money so I don't have to get a job."

"I still don't think it was worth sprinting down 3rd Street and getting beaten up," Cleon said nasally while pinching his nose and tilting his head back. "Can we sit down somewhere?"

"Yeah, sit down here," Lalasa showed them to a booth. "I'll get some ice."

"No freeloaders, Isran!" her boss yelled.

She winced. "Yes, sir. They'll pay for ice."

Faleron picked up a coin from his overturned hat and tossed it to her. "Keep the change."

After the restaurant closed up, they started home. Lalasa snapped her fingers. "Aww, man! I forgot. Can someone go grocery shopping?"

"Not us," the three beaten up young men replied simultaneously.

"I guess not," she said. "Hey, Keladry, you and Stone go to that all-night supermarket. Buy this," she handed Keladry a list. "And make sure you get the cheap stuff. We're not eating gourmet anymore… unfortunately…" She made a face. "Oh well."

Joren grabbed Faleron's hat away from him and pocketed a few Nobles. "We'll be back in an hour. Lights out by the time I get back, you hear me?"

"Yes, mother," Cleon muttered.

"You want to say something Kennan?" Joren said threateningly.

"No," he sighed. 

Roald grimaced as he tried to examine the bruises on his arm. "Can you get some bandages for us?"

"Sure," Keladry nodded.

~~

Keladry yawned. She was pushing a cart with food in it while Joren held the list in his hand, trudging irritably in front of her. The fluorescent lights of the all-night supermarket bothered her eyes for some reason. She listened to the squeak of the cart's wheels on the linoleum of the floor and groaned silently.

"Have we gotten everything?" she asked.

"No. What the hell does that friggin' Carthakian want cornstarch for?"

She shrugged. "Don't ask me."

Once again, through boredom, she began observing her partner. His pale blonde hair still messily fell around his head. By the bone structure of his face and his rarely flushed cheeks, she guessed he might have been mistaken for a girl in his childhood. "Anyone who probably did that most likely got the crap beaten out of them," she thought. "Did I just say crap?" Keladry shook her head. "Who cares about slang anymore? I don't care…"

"Mindelan. Mindelan!"

She blinked. "What?"

"We're going to the registers now," he said and walked ahead of her. She pushed the cart dejectedly behind him.

An old lady in a purple flowery dress walked to another check out line next to her. She smiled kindly at her and whispered to her husband, a man with a brown cap and unique penny loafers. "Look at that couple, honey. Just like us when we were young!"

"Couple?" she croaked. Her and Joren--a couple? Keladry shuddered. The old couple must be senile, she told herself comfortingly. There was no way in the whole entire universe that Joren and her would ever get together. He was rude, inconsiderate, and only cared for himself and his bike.

"And he's handsome… a good fighter… bought _me_ a bike…" she whispered. He also had her ambition. He was the one whose record she broke at the academy. And the one who always seemed in control. Keladry shook her head. If she didn't know any better, she would say she was developing something for the stoic operative from Tusaine. And that was ridiculous. If Keladry _had_ to fall in love-- as if it weren't her choice-- it'd probably end up being with her best friend, Neal, or maybe Owen.

Not Mr. Attitude.

~~

Author: See? Pants? Keladry barging in on Joren by mistake? Now, that's a good dose of UST without ruining my plans for future episodes. (Trust me, there will be more UST, it's just all biding its time…)

Closing Credits:

Special thanks to those who helped me with descriptions:

( Note: These people are VERY cool. Do not mess with them.)

Kestrel

Erin (Hyper Girl to the Rescue)

Sullychkk (Whose name is Caitie…)

And also to the people who volunteered to help with my web page:

FireLily

Jaelawyn Noble 

   [1]: mailto:silverwLng@aol.com



	13. Kidnapped

It Could Be Worse

Episode 13: Kidnapped!

By Sulia Serafine

[1-28-01. A Protector of the Small fanfic set in an alternate universe; all credit goes to Tamora Pierce. I'm broke, so you can't sue me.

Oh, one more thing: BAD LANGUAGE (I. E. cursing, swearing…). You have been warned!

E-mail me at [silverwLng@aol.com][1], okay? Thank you and have a nice day.]

Lalasa scribbled on her notepad the food orders she was being given. When she noticed her customer was done, she turned on smiled politely and went to the kitchen. She stuck the order on the rack and waved to Roald, who was washing dishes. He set down a plate and waved to her with the rubber gloves on. She sighed in contentment and picked up another order waiting for her.

"What table?" she asked her boss, the cook and manager of the restaurant.

"Table 6. Hurry it up, Isran."

She rolled her eyes as she shoved the swinging door. "Yes, sir."

Lalasa casually balanced the tray of food on one upturned palm as she navigated around tables and chairs. Occasionally, she had to dodge moving people so she didn't spill her order. And finally, she made it to the door where table 6 was situated. She set down the tray on the table and sighed. 

"That's two hot dogs with the works, and here's your bill," she said without looking up. 

"Do you think you can put it on my tab, Love?"

"We don't do tabs--" she began. Lalasa looked up from her apron. She gasped. "You!"

The man in front of her was about three years her senior, with menacing eyes set under thick dark eyebrows. He smiled mischievously at the young woman and took her hand. He kissed it. "My, my, Lalasa-love. I can't believe they've reduced you to do this menial excuse of a life."

She snatched her hand away. "No! Get out of here, you… you…"

He stood up. "What?" Before she could turn and run, he spoke again. "Don't do anything, Lalasa. You don't want to worry anyone about you, huh? And to cause such a ruckus in public will send for the local police and then your friends could get revealed." His voice dropped to a whisper. "And maybe even you, too."

"What do you want, Vinson Genlith?" she trembled.

"Nothing, my sweet, sweet girl," he cooed. He traced her jawbone with one slim finger. "Why don't you tell the manager you're going to take a break and meet me in the alley, hmm?"

She reluctantly nodded. Vinson grabbed a hot dog, wrapped it with a napkin, and left the restaurant. The bell chimed over the door as his figure disappeared around the corner. She gathered up the tray with what food was left and shakily approached the kitchen. Before she breezed through the door, Lalasa took a deep breath. She couldn't let Roald see her distressed or else he'd start asking questions.

Over the last week, she had been confiding more and more in Roald and less with Keladry as she had in the beginning. She supposed her "stranger" method was no longer effective because of him. He was so kind and gentle, soft-spoken, but serious and supportive. Much more than any guy she'd ever met.

"Sir," she said as she approached the manager. "Something came up. Can I take my break now and make up for it during my usual break?"

He looked her over. "Fine. Get out of here."

She nodded. Roald set down the stack of plates he finished drying. He peered at her curiously. "Is something wrong, Lalasa?"

"Uh, no," she replied. "I just have to run some errands for Keladry."

The Vice President's son frowned. "What's she doing?"

"Damn," she thought. Aloud, she said, "Kel's helping Cleon find Fal. She paged me from 3rd Street. I'll see you later, Roald."

"Okay then. Borrow my jacket. It will get cold later on."

"I will. Thanks." She took off her apron and hung it up on the peg. Then she retrieved Roald's gray windbreaker and proceeded out the kitchen. Lalasa felt guilty for lying to Roald, but it was much better if he didn't know what was going on. She shuffled down the sidewalk, turning into the alley that Vinson had indicated.

"So nice of you to join me," the man in question smiled. He offered his arm. "Shall we go somewhere else?"

She stepped back. "Tell me what you want, first."

He sneered. "If we leave, I'll _tell_ you."

"No. Tell me right here."

"Your father sent me to take care of you as a reward for telling him where you were and, uh," he chuckled, "_who _you were with."

She stared at the ground, tears welling up in her eyes. Vinson took this as a sign of submission and grabbed her by the arm. She didn't protest by yanking away, and let him lead her to a black car waiting at the mouth of the alley. Finally, the tears spilled over her eyelids and ran down her cheeks.

"Don't cry now, my lovely," Vinson loosened his grip on her to whisper in her ear. "I'll take good care of you."

She looked up at him in horror. She could try to run then, but he would only catch her and drag her screaming and kicking to the car. She could scream for help, but who would care? Tyra was like Carthak at times. People minded their own business, even if a person was being knifed in front of their own door. Sometimes, it made Lalasa furious how she could be so vulnerable, like any commonplace female with no brain of her own.

But she _had_ a brain. Lalasa Isran wasn't going to take it so easily.

"For now," she thought as she sat in the back seat of the black car. She shifted around uncomfortably on the vinyl seats. "For now, I'll let him take me away. But I'll escape. I have to." She glared at Vinson as he signaled the driver to go. "It's not like he's taking me to Dad. I can't even believe Dad wanted Vinson to 'take care of me'. I know he's a jerk, but he wouldn't stick me with this sleaze ball." She gazed at the restaurant as they passed it. "And Roald…"

~~

"Why didn't you tell me you weren't any good at Poker?" Faleron grinned as he walked beside Cleon. The redhead reached into his pockets and turned them inside out. Nothing was in them, not even lint. 

Keladry walked behind them, content in just watching the men's conversation. Only _after_ Cleon had lost his money had they paged her and asked her to come convince the men whom they were playing with _not_ to beat them up. So, she dropped her all-too-important duty of finding a great, profitable job and went down to 3rd Street, the notorious Gambling Street, to talk some sense into the stocky men that lived there. And they actually listened to her. 

"Well, I never played before! I thought you knew that!" he exclaimed grouchily. He kicked a stone on the pavement. They neared the inn where they were living. The shorter man laughed and brushed his sleeves off.

"Don't worry. I made enough money to make up for what you lost." He yawned melodramatically, made a big emphasis of his actions.

"Ice Cream Pants," Cleon muttered.

The other raised a suspicious eyebrow. "_What_ did you call me?"

"Nothing."

Faleron squinted at him. "No, no. " He shook his finger at him. "You said something. You called me Ice Cream Pants, didn't you?" He threw up his arms over his head in a brief fit of insanity. "Oh, vast world with such people in it!" he started laughing uncontrollably as he shouted. "I am Ice Cream Pants! Haha!"

Keladry spoke up. "I thought you hated that name."

The thief turned on her and slung an arm around her shoulder. "Well you see, Officer, I am in too good a mood to care. I've won tons of money! And I didn't get beat up!"

"Humph," Cleon opened the door to the inn. "Only because Kel came and the other guys think it's just so freaking _adorable_ for a chick to stand up for two grown men."

"Or maybe because she flipped them over her shoulder?" Faleron winked and began to imitate Keladry's fighting arts. The man at the front desk stared at him skeptically, then returned to his paperwork. "That was pretty cool, you have to admit."

"Screw it. Screw all of it. Especially poker!"

Faleron called to his redheaded friend. "Now, now! Don't be discouraged, Kennan, my good man! It takes practice to have a good poker face! And to make good judgments!" He ran ahead of Keladry to catch up with him on the flights of metal stairs. He stopped him and put his palms together in front of his face. "Now, just be one with the cards, grasshopper."

"Oh, shut up!" Cleon yelled, red-faced and humiliated, marching past the hysterical thief.

"You're not _mad_ are you? I was joking! Wait up!"

"Shut up, Thief-boy! I'm not talking to you!"

Keladry started to crack up. She caught herself and clamped a hand over her own mouth. It was quite clear that Faleron and Cleon were best friends, even if they spent most of their time humiliating each other. She took her time going up to the stairs, listening to the two young men throwing insults at each other. As she reached halfway, everything became quiet. The quarreling came to a sudden halt that jerked her into reality. She bolted up the stairs two or three steps at a time.

"What happened?" she asked before she even saw. Roald was leaning against the door to his room while Joren, Cleon, and Faleron surrounded him. The quiet young man cradled his head in his hands. 

"So, she didn't go with you, Cleon?" Roald asked, lifting his head up. 

"No. Keladry was here at the inn until we paged her," Cleon said. He saw her. "Kel! Did you send Lalasa on an errand?"

She blinked. "What? No! What are you talking about?"

Joren folded his arms. "Lalasa left the restaurant at 3:00 saying she was running an errand for you while you were helping Kennan search for King."

"But I didn't help him search," she frowned. 

"Exactly," Roald groaned. "It's been three hours and she didn't come back when her break was over. I tried paging her, but she wouldn't answer!" His expression was full of worry. "I hope she's okay."

It was obvious he liked her. Otherwise, he wouldn't be so concerned, Keladry reasoned. She scratched her head nervously. Everyone was looking at her as if they expected her to say something. She coughed quietly. "We really can't do anything more than go back to the restaurant and ask if she'd gone back there. Get some rest, Roald. You look like you need it."

"Isran is up to something," Joren said. 

"I can't believe you're saying that!" Roald exclaimed. "She wouldn't lie to us like that! She had to be forced into something-- maybe threatened! But she wouldn't be up to anything!"

Joren stared him down. "Do you even know who her father is?"

"Yes," he replied, unabashed.

"Then that's that. Get some sleep, Jasson."

No one spoke against the blonde leader. They went their ways, the guys to their room, and Keladry to hers-- alone. Roald did not go quietly, she observed. His eyes were turning slightly red at the edges from his tears. Cleon patted his shoulder and said something to him that she couldn't hear. 

And into her room, she entered-- just her. No whining Carthakian of how dingy the room was and how much she missed dance clubs. The female officer looked at all of her friend's things on the dresser: a brush, some hair ties, mascara, a compact, and a piece of paper indicating her shifts at the restaurant. They were as untouched since that morning. 

"Just this morning," she thought. Keladry next looked inside the bathroom where there was one clear spot on the mirror while the rest remained permanently cloudy. Yes, she could see her reflection.

Keladry sighed and started to brush her teeth. While she did, there was some shouting coming from next door. It sounded like Roald's voice. And then there was another, harsher sounding person: Joren. She shut her eyes and blocked it away. Finally, she finished with the routines of hygiene and changed into some night clothing-- ones she'd borrowed from Lalasa.

"Be safe," she whispered as she sat down on her bed and glanced over at the other empty one. Keladry stared at her clock, for the mere purpose of watching the digital numbers change. It felt so empty in that little room. She was used to being alone in a room, but after Lalasa…

There was a knock on the door. Keladry threw the covers off and got up. 

"I'm coming," she called when the person knocked again. She was too tired to care what she looked like or who could possibly be knocking at that hour. With her luck, it was probably the innkeeper complaining about Roald's cries.

"Hey, Officer," Faleron said. There was an obvious attempt at cheeriness in his voice but it came out flat. He had his hands in his pockets and was rocking back and forth on his feet from heel to toe.

"I told you to stop calling me that," she reminded in a monotonous voice.

"Right. Sorry," he said. He scratched the back of his neck. "Um, do you mind if I have the spare bed in here tonight?" Before she could answer, he went on to explain. "You see, since Roald is depressed, I didn't want to disturb him, and there's Lalasa' bed and… Well, I promise not to bother you. No stealing your underwear! Heheh…" he emitted a short laugh.

"Yeah, sure. It's okay. But what about Cleon and Joren?"

Faleron closed the door behind him and shrugged. There was sadness in his usual bright and thoughtful eyes. "When Roald makes one sound, Joren yells, and Cleon stuffs pillows over his head. You know how it is, Officer-- I mean, Keladry."

She nodded. They sat down on their respective beds, at a loss for words. Keladry picked up the holo-screen remote. "Do you want to watch something?"

He shook his head. "No. I'll just get to sleep. Thank you. Good night, Officer."

She placed the remote on the dresser and turned off the lamplight. "Good night, Fal."

Somewhere past midnight, Keladry woke up. She turned onto her side and noticed that Lalasa was sitting upright in her bed with the covers pulled tightly around her like a cloak. She rubbed her eyes and yawned. "Lalasa, what's wrong? Did you have a bad dream?"

Faleron blinked. He twisted around and faced her in the darkness. "It's me, Kel. Lalasa isn't here."

She was now completely awake. Keladry squinted. The street lamps outside her window hardly provided enough light to see anything with. "Oh, I'm sorry. I thought you were…"

"I know," he nodded. He gestured to the wall in between their room and the other room. "I woke up because I couldn't hear Roald anymore. I think he finally fell asleep. Poor guy. He's really sweet on her."

Keladry sat up and leaned against the headboard. "Yeah. They've gotten close."

He suddenly turned to her and swung his legs over the edge of his bed. "Have you ever had a boyfriend?"

She was shocked at his question. Keladry clutched the edge of her bedcovers a little tighter. Thank heaven for the darkness. If there was light, Faleron was sure to see her white knuckles. "No. Why do you ask?"

"Just curious I guess," Faleron said and lied back down. "It all fits in with the too-busy-to-have-a-social-life subject I keep hearing about from Cleon. That's what happened to you, wasn't it?"

"Something like that," she replied, irritated by what he knew and by Cleon's big mouth.

"Oh."

When he stopped talking and she couldn't see his dim figure move, she settled back down to sleep. 

"Keladry?"

She turned over to face him although it didn't help her vision. "Yeah?"

"Now that you are no longer with the DJPF, you have the time for a boyfriend."

She narrowed her eyes. "What, do _you_ want to be my boyfriend?"

Sensing the hostility in her voice, he laughed to lighten up the atmosphere. "No! Of course not! I'm too much a wildcard to ever settle down-- same as Cleon. I just thought that you might want to now that you have the opportunity."

She rolled over and turned her back towards him. "We have other important things to worry about. Like Lalasa."

"Yes, I know, but--"

"Goodnight, Faleron."

He sighed. "Goodnight, Keladry." He pulled the bed sheets closer around him. "I guess it's true what Cleon also said," he thought. "She's not just too busy… she's also scared."  
~~

Lalasa was feeling much better around one in the morning. When Vinson wasn't looking, she had paged Roald. Her 'caretaker' was too arrogant to believe she could do anything against him. At the moment, they were in a cabin outside Tyra. It was dim, and there were no bugs to be found, but she still didn't like it. 

Especially the part where she was stuck in the cabin with _Vinson_.

"Now, Lalasa, my love, please get some rest. We're going to be leaving tomorrow bright and early, hmm?"

"Whatever," she mumbled. He grabbed her by the wrist and squeezed. She grimaced.

"I expect you to behave, or I just might do something. I don't want to hurt my precious jewel, but I will if I have to." He smiled at her sinisterly and let go. She rubbed where he had squeezed. Sure, Vinson wasn't as smart as she was, but he was definitely stronger and more dangerous.

"Hurry up, Roald," she thought. "Get over here and be my knight in shining armor, okay?"

~~

"Quick! Get up! They're gone! They're gone!" Cleon shouted as he burst into Keladry's room and began jumping up and down. He switched on the lights, causing Keladry to throw the covers up over her head. The redhead went over to Faleron first, yanking down the bed sheets and shaking his comrade by the shoulder. "Get up! They're gone! I woke up and they were gone!"

"Who's gone?" Faleron groaned as he sat up and rubbed his eyes.

Keladry studied Cleon's panicked state. "Roald and Joren?"

"Yeah! I woke up because I had to piss, er… go use the bathroom, and their beds are empty!" He ran a hand through his hair. "I don't know what's going on, but we better go after them."

She got up and ran to the bathroom with a bundle of clothes under her arm. "Okay, okay. Get dressed. We'll follow them somehow."

"How?" Faleron asked.

"I don't know! I'll think of something!" she yelled back and slammed the door. 

"Well, Kennan, how long have they been gone?"

The redhead shrugged helplessly and sat down beside him. A couple of hours ago, I had the pillows over my head. I couldn't hear Roald anymore, so I thought he'd fallen asleep. And the same with Joren!" He closed his eyes. "I suppose they've been gone as long as then."

"I was awake then," Faleron thought. The silence from that room woke me up. He patted his friend's back. "Okay. Let's get dressed and we'll see if the Black Knight is in its spot." He knocked on the bathroom door. "Hurry up, Kel!"

The door swung open. He fell forward at the sudden absence of barrier. She caught him by the wrist and steadied him. Surprisingly, Kel was already in her field uniform-- save for the DJPF logo being ripped off and her civilian vest covering most of the recognizable uniform.

"You know, the Hyperion links are still quite noticeable," Cleon spoke up.

She threw a bag of links to him. "Too bad. They work for armor, so put yours on, too."

"But--"

"That's an order, officer!" she bellowed.

He yelped and ran out of the room, racing to get his uniform. 

"Uh, Kel?" Faleron whispered.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing…"

~~

Vinson left Lalasa sleeping on the sofa while he went out to smoke. He tucked a spare cigarette behind his ear. Then he proceeded to light the one hanging from his lips. As he lit it and put away his lighter, a force exploded on his back. "Ah!" He screamed as he fell forward down the rocky slope. He couldn't stop his momentum once he got going, and hit a log at the bottom. 

"Shit!" he cursed and wiped at a cut on his forehead. He had hit a rock as well. "Who the fuck did that? I'm going to massacre you!"

"Oh, that would be the day," a familiar voice laughed psychotically. Vinson paled.

He got onto his knees and looked up at the shadowed figure elevated up from him. The man slowly made his way down the hill, taking his time and kicking a rock now and then to Vinson's feet.

"I'm so sorry, sir," he hoarsely whispered. Cold sweat beaded on his forehead. This was the last position he'd ever want to be in. The man before him had the power to kill him at any time. The man before him had power unimaginable. The man before him… The man before him was his father.

And he was also Roger Conté.

"Dad!" he begged. "Please, please, forgive my ignorance. I didn't know it was you! I mean, even if it wasn't you, I'd… I'd…"

"Act like a moron?" his father supplied. He crouched down and yanked his son up by the hair. "I don't know why I let your mother convince me to take you under my wing. You don't even have the common sense of any normal son!"

Vinson nodded vigorously. "I know, s-sir, and I'll do anything--"

"Oh, stop your groveling. It's pathetic." Roger let go of his hair and stood to his full height. "Now, can you tell me what you're doing with Tasikhe's daughter?"

The son wiped at the blood dripping down his forehead when it got into his eyes. He backed up against the log and gulped. "Uh, I can explain that. Mr. Tasikhe said I could look out for her…"

Roger backhanded Vinson hard, sending him crashing over the log and onto a pile of firewood. Vinson spat out some blood from where he had bit his tongue down. He wiped his mouth and looked imploringly up at his father. Roger folded his arms and glared at him.

"Ozorne said look out for her. Yeah, I can see that. But I swear I cannot see where you took it into your damn head to kidnap her." He leaned toward him. "Don't you think that I had plans for her, staying with her friends?"

Vinson remained silent. He sniffled a bit, now realizing his nose was bloody too.

"Get out of here. Go get cleaned up."

"What about Lalasa?" Vinson asked meekly.

His father grinned. "She's already paged for her dear Prince Charming to come and get her."

"Pager?"

"Yes, dolt, pager. Now get out of here! You'll do yourself a favor and not let anyone see you bloodied up like this!"

"Yes, sir. Right away." He scrambled up the slope past Roger, stumbling here in there, nearly tripping over loose rocks. He grabbed a bag next to the cabin's door and took off for the black car parked five minutes away at the road. Roger laughed and strode triumphantly into the woods.

~~

Joren slowed down on his bike. He peered down a dirt path leading off from the road. Following Roald was a harder task than he'd imagined. The first part had been fine. Joren feigned sleep while he heard the other man's pager go off. Then Roald climbed out the window, a grave mistake since Joren's bed was right next to the window. After that, Roald 'borrowed' a car with its keys hidden in the glove compartment and taken off. 

Now all the back roads at the edge of the city wound through woods and parks. Joren didn't think he was every so annoyed by nature before than he was at that moment.

Eventually, he turned off the main road and onto the dirt road, going slow so as not to alert others far away of his presence with the sound of his bike. When the road turned into a path, Joren turned off the cleared path and into a grove of trees. He parked his bike there and hiked the rest of the way. And a minute later, he could see the very same car Roald had taken parked in a ditch. 

"Stupid idiot," he muttered as he neared a cabin. The door was open. He jogged the rest of the way, and entered.

"Stone!" Lalasa exclaimed as she leapt from Roald's arms and to the blonde's side. "You came, too? I didn't think you cared!"

He narrowed his eyes into two glaring slits. "I don't. I came because your lover boy here caused too much commotion for me to leave him alone. And now what the hell is going on? Why are you all the way out here?"

Roald walked over to Lalasa and hugged her. "She was kidnapped."

"By who?"

"Vinson Genlith," Lalasa spat. "That jerk's been bothering me since we were kids. He's the one who saw me with all of you at the Crypt, and he tattled. He always was a coward."

Joren glanced around the dim cabin. There was no trace of any second person. "Where is he?"

"I don't know. I heard some frantic running outside and woke up, and then I hear the car start up in the distance and he's gone. He just left me here." She shrugged.

"Probably knew the Super Squad was coming!" Cleon cheered as he burst through the door, flexing and posing. He spun around grandly and winked at Lalasa and Roald as he imitated famous body builders. "Go ahead, feel the biceps! Nice, eh?"

"Moron," Faleron called as he walked calmly inside. He tipped his hat to Lalasa. "It seems the lady is safe. All is well. I do believe our work here is done."

"It never began," Keladry corrected as she, too, stepped in. She was somewhat disappointed that she had gotten geared up for nothing. When everyone looked at her to explain their arrival, she said, "I used Stone's portable database to locate his tracking disks." She indicated the silver disks on the side of Joren's thighs.

The blonde scowled and bent over to take the disks off. "Okay then. Fine. Isran's safe, Genlith's gone, and everybody's piling into whatever car _you_ stole," he glared at Faleron, who started to whistle innocently, "and we're going back to the inn. And _sleeping_. As of tomorrow, we're out of Tyra."

Faleron's mouth dropped open. "But I'll have to find a new gambling circuit!"

"And I'll have to interview for another lousy job!" Lalasa pouted.

"And I'll… have to _get_ a job!" Cleon groaned.

Roald and Keladry shook their heads sadly.

"You're too much, Kennan, you know that?" she sighed and started out the door. Faleron followed her, shuffling a deck of cards in his hands when there hadn't been any cards before. Roald took Lalasa's hand and the two strolled out the door together, whispering to each other. And Joren dragged Cleon out by his ear.

~~

Author: Just as I said in the last episode and the episode before that: If more people review, I post another episode. So, seeing that I'm neglecting both school and practice, please enjoy the following! (By the way, by the time I was half way done with this episode, twenty people had reviewed episode 12. TWENTY! "You like me! You really like me!" (Yes, one of the many famous quotes of Sunset Boulevard, so what?) And by the way, everyone's going to be so happy when I come out with episode 14. I've been rushing the last two episodes because I already plotted out 14 and absolutely fell in love with it (if you _can_ fall in love with an episode…).

Closing Credits:

Special thanks to those who helped me with descriptions:

( Note: These people are VERY cool. Do not mess with them.)

Kestrel

Erin (Hyper Girl to the Rescue)

Sullychkk (Whose name is Caitie…)

And also to the people who volunteered to help with my web page:

FireLily

Jaelawyn Noble

   [1]: mailto:silverwLng@aol.com



	14. Race For Your Lives

It Could Be Worse

Episode 14: Race For Your Lives

By Sulia Serafine

[1-28-01. A Protector of the Small fanfic set in an alternate universe; all credit goes to Tamora Pierce. I'm broke, so you can't sue me.

Oh, one more thing: BAD LANGUAGE (I. E. cursing, swearing…). You have been warned!

E-mail me at [silverwLng@aol.com][1], okay? 

P. S. Well, here it is! I'm so proud of this chapter. I know I took a long time (and must have gotten thirty-something reviews for me to hurry it up. But I really, really, _really_ wanted this chapter to be PERFECT, so that's why it took so long. That, and homework, and my race this Saturday (Rain, rain, go away! Come again on a non-race day!) I apologize for ALLO as it is currently archived here at FF.net. I have to get the hang of this new chaptering system they _insist_ that we use. As far as I've noticed, ICBW is archived in chapters correctly. Thanks for all the reviews! Keep 'em coming!]

Keladry sat leisurely in shotgun, fiddling with the radio to find the news report. It was the same car Faleron had taken the night before and seemed good and reliable for the trip. She turned her head to see how everyone else was doing. Roald and Lalasa were continually talking amongst themselves, every now and then holding hands while Cleon was seated behind the driver's seat, rolling his eyes and staring grumpily out the window. 

"Why do _I_ have to sit with the lovebirds?"

"Because you still can't drive and I can," Faleron said as he got into the car and turned the ignition. The car roared to life. He shut the door and leaned his head out the window. "Stone! Where are we headed?"

"To the next dot on the freaking map."

"Okay, okay! Man, he's in a bad mood." Faleron looked down at the crude navigation system built into the car. He was used to the top of the line system in the old silver hover car. He turned to Keladry. "Can you make out what that next one says?"

She squinted. A scratch on the screen's surface covered the flashing red dot on the screen. At first, she thought it was dirt, but when she couldn't rub it off with her sleeve, she shook her head. "No. I guess we'll have to wait until we get there."

"Let's go already!" Cleon whined. "How long do I have to be stuck back here with these two, huh?"

"Oh, shut up," Lalasa said and jabbed him in the shoulder. She turned back to Roald and started talking again while he attentively listened. Cleon pretended to gag. 

"Ow!"

Lalasa withdrew her elbow from his side. She stuck her tongue out. "You deserved it."

They traveled for six days through the countryside. The fields of long grass rippled like water rippling from the wind. The mountains in the distance seemed watchful from their constant presence. Keladry had the radio set to the news frequently, listening to updates on foreign affairs as well as local ones. She took to heart every crime that was committed, listening to the independent stories, solving them in her own head, and silently sympathizing with those who were clearly innocent. Cleon whistled songs, and even made some of his own since Faleron was busy driving. Roald and Lalasa spent a lot of time together. Her kidnapping had been a major turning point in their relationship.

"We're approaching the next town," Faleron announced in a dull voice.

Roald looked up. "Town or city?"

Faleron glanced down at the navigation screen. He also tried to wipe the screen. Having achieved nothing, he shrugged. "Um… a little bit of both?"

"Then let's go already!" Cleon kicked the back of Faleron's seat.

"Quit it, I'm driving!" 

"Ice Cream Pants…"

"Grasshopper, what have I told you? Be--"

"Oh shut _up_, Fal!"

~~

The sight before them impressed Keladry. Their destination was as small as a town, but resembled something like a mini-city. She would use the term suburb, but it didn't fit this place right. Walking up to the edge of this town was deceptive. You almost _thought_ it was a wide city, and not a small town. There were restaurants, fueling stations, shops and stands. And then, there were apartment complexes, and even a school. But all of it was terribly advanced compared to most small towns. In the distance, Keladry could even see a huge arena.

Joren stiffened and took off his helmet. He seemed very uncomfortable to Keladry. He never was, so it was easy to see the difference. "What is this place called?"

Faleron ducked back into the car and checked their map. "It is… Galla."

He turned his head sharply. "Near the River Drell?" The thief nodded. Joren scowled and narrowed his blue eyes. "We are _not_ staying here. What's the next spot on the map?"

Keladry frowned. "Now, wait a second. Why is this place no good?"

"It looks fine to me," Lalasa chimed in.

He glared at the two of them. "It doesn't matter why. We're leaving."

"No. I want to know what's so bad," Keladry folded her arms. "Is there a high crime rate? Do notorious gangsters and assassins live here? Maybe the government is too corrupt for us to handle? Seriously, Stone, what is it?"

He didn't respond. She dropped her arms to her side. "Well, then. If there aren't any threats, we're staying. Let's go find a hotel."

Cleon yawned and stretched. "I think there's a hotel there beside the arena. Can you see it?" He pointed. "Stand on your tip-toes. You can barely make out the sign."

Once again, Joren spoiled the suggestion. "There's a cheap motel right here, Kennan. We stay here."

They went on over to the motel and got two rooms once again. This time, Cleon and Joren were sleeping on the brown carpeted floor. Then, Keladry and Lalasa split a double in the next room. Later in the afternoon, Faleron left to sell the car at a junkyard. He wasn't too confident of getting a good price for the used vehicle, but any money they could get was good enough. 

Not too long after that, those left realized they needed jobs. The couple talking quietly in the corner was picked, since they had seemed most comfortable getting jobs in Tyra. When Lalasa and Roald started to leave, they were stopped before they could step out onto the street. 

"Why can't we go get jobs here?" Lalasa asked, irritated.

"Don't enter your names anywhere, and that includes job applications," Joren simply said. "We can live off the money from the car."

Roald folded his arms. "I don't think so. It's an old car, and money runs out fast with us."

"Just do it," he hissed and walked inside his room. He slammed the door behind him, the sound echoing all around.

The two exchanged confused glances. Lalasa shivered. "Cold as ice."

~~

Days passed. Faleron was able to sell the car for a reasonably good price, but having a hard time concealing it was a stolen car. The money was used by Lalasa to buy food and supplies. And they stayed permanently at the edge of town. Joren would not leave the area of the motel. He stayed with his bike most often times, in the shadow that the building cast. 

Keladry was lying down stomach-flat on her bed, trying to get some sleep when someone tapped her shoulder. She rolled over and opened her eyes. Four people gazed down on her. Her eyes widened and she sat up quickly. Something had to be wrong. "What? What happened?"

"We're running out of money," Roald began.

"And we can't get jobs," Lalasa added

"We have to sell some of our stuff," Cleon nodded. "And Mr. Attitude's bike has to go first!"

She blinked. "What?"

Faleron sat down beside her. He drummed his fingers on his knee. "Okay. So we know the bike is important to him and all, but it's one of the unnecessary things that we can sell! All it does is cost us money with maintenance, so why not sell it?" Before she could answer, he went on to prove his point. "The clothing we have, the food we have, and the supplies… it's necessary. We don't have a car anymore. That means the five of us are on public transportation. Why does Mr. Stone get his own bike?"

Keladry fidgeted under the scrutiny of her fellow companions. They were all turning to her to solve the problem? "It's his bike. Don't talk to _me_."

They exchanged glances. Lalasa whispered to Cleon. He nodded. "But, you see, Kel, the money he spends could go towards our living costs. And--"

"_And_?" She narrowed her eyes. "It's not my problem. The bike belongs to him, so go talk to him." She lied back down and turned on her side. "I'm really tired. So if you guys could just leave?"

Faleron shook her by the foot. She kicked at him lightly. 

"Hey, stop that. Let me sleep."

"We want _you_ to talk to him," Roald said finally. Keladry looked up at him. She was struck first with disbelief. They actually wanted her to go up to Joren and tell him to sell his bike? Then, panic came. He'd kill me. No, worse, he'd kill me and send my body into a volcano. And after that, hysterics arrived. 

"Oh, you're… you're not actually going to make me…" she stammered. She caught hold of herself. What was she doing? She was better than that. Keladry grudgingly put on her blank mask, letting them know she was thinking about it. They waited patiently for her to speak. "So, you want me to march up to him," she paused, "and demand he sell his bike for the good of our group?"

"Yes," they replied in unison.

She got up from the bed and started walking to the bathroom. "You can forget it. I don't have a death wish."

"But Kel!" Cleon pleaded. "We need the money! And he won't let us get jobs for some stupid, stupid reason-- why not?" He beat her to the bathroom door and stood in the doorway. She glared at him before shoving him aside and entering the bathroom. "Please, Kel? Please? I'll never ask you anything else for as long as I live."

He almost heard a snort from the other side of the door.

"Please, just do it before it gets too late. It's like," Lalasa glanced at the clock on the nightstand. "Four in the afternoon. We'll be behind you every step of the way! Well, not really, but we'll be there in spirit!"

"That's really encouraging," Cleon rolled his eyes. 

"Like you could do better."

Faleron made a move to exit the room. "Just think about what we said, Officer. Talk to Stone. He's _your_ partner-- not ours."

Keladry stared at the door. She listened to her friends' retreat one by one. How could they do this to her? She didn't remember agreeing in a contract to be the one to handle Joren Stone. Just because they were too afraid to do it, didn't mean they had to dump the burden onto her. The thought was thoroughly frustrating.

"Sell the Black Knight?" she whispered to herself. "It wouldn't be cared for as well as Stone care's for it. It wouldn't be right."

But as time wore on that day, Keladry couldn't stop thinking about it. And gradually, she submitted to the idea. Throughout the day, the others would glance at her and give a knowing look. She couldn't fathom how angry she was with the rest of them, picking her to do this. But she didn't show it. The female officer did not jerk away when one of them patted her on the back, nor remain silent when one was talking to her. She just let them believe that she was fine with what they were forcing her to do.

"You can do it, Fearless Leader," Cleon winked. 

"Fearless leader, my ass," she thought. Even her thoughts were giving way to the resentful emotions within. Aloud she said, "Go eat dinner, Kennan."

He nodded. "Yeah, I will. So, when are you going to do it?" His eyes were lit with anticipation. "Well?"

"Just leave me alone. I'll get to it," she replied, bothered. He nodded and went to join the others inside the guys' motel room. Joren was behind the building-- not with his motorcycle. If he were standing right next to his motorcycle, Keladry would never approach him. She liked the bike, too. 

"They were right," she thought, remembering a few days ago. "Mr. Attitude does have an influence. I like bikes now. Go figure." Keladry took a deep breath as she neared the corner of the motel. She cleared her head and raised her head high. As an afterthought, she straightened her posture and lengthened her strides. Now, where was he?"

"Hey, Stone," she called out to the shadows. A light clicked on from overhead. She flinched in surprise and held up her hand to shield her eyes from the sudden bright light. "Cut it out. I need to talk to you."

He dimmed the light a bit from where he stood next to the switch box. He was in his uniform, black and red. Standing against the black sky and wearing dark clothing made his head stand out. A full head of straight, white-blonde hair cut messily to his earlobes. His icy blue eyes were his most paralyzing features, stopping anyone in their tracks. And they were set under serious eyebrows and a high forehead.

Up until the end of her days, she could never forget how intimidating Joren Stone could be.

"What?" he asked in his low voice, hinting at the danger he was capable of.

She folded her arms and willed herself to be strong. "Everyone's been short on money these last weeks." She waited to see if he would say something. When he remained quiet, she went on. "We can't have jobs, and we can only pawn and sell things as far as two blocks from here."

He nodded. "So?"

Keladry coughed softly. "We want you to sell your bike."

"What? Oh, you're kidding me," Joren sneered. He approached her. "Why the hell should I sell _my_ bike?"

"We need the money, and it's the biggest money-draining object we have."

He glared at her. "_I_ have."

She tried to look him in the eyes, but it was getting difficult to do that and remain unfazed. "Don't be selfish, Stone. The rest of us are stuck on a public bus while you're cruising around on a bike? You're only hurting our financial standings by having us stay here with no source of income and this expensive hunk of metal--"

"Don't you call it a hunk of metal!" he yelled. "I'll do whatever the fuck I want!"

She growled. "Well, fine! Be like that! I'll go tell the others what a selfish bastard you are!" She paused on purpose and held up her hands. "Oh, wait. They already know _that_."

He shoved her against the brick side of the motel. She cried out in surprise. Keladry began to move, but Joren put one hand on the wall over her shoulder and pointed his finger at her with the other. "Don't push it, Mindelan."

His voice was seething with fury. His usually icy eyes were on fire. She gulped nervously, but didn't want to show it. She breathed calmly through her nose, clamping her mouth shut and pursing her lips. Her eyes never broke away from his. Absently, she was reminded from their first mission-- the little act in front of the entrance so they could observe Ozorne and Kieran. While that time was covered with dislike and irritation, now was drowned in loathing and something far worse.

"What are you going to do?" she challenged, slightly crazed. The adrenaline was pumping inside of her. She had to be insane! Keladry darted out her tongue to wet her lips and nodded her head to the direction of his bike. "You know and I know that the bike is not worth all of us starving. So, if you can get it off its freaking pedestal--"

"Oh, you shut your mouth! Who the hell do you think _you_ are to tell me what to do?"

She ground her teeth. "Stop with the superiority act! I'm so damn tired of it! I'm tired of everything!" She leaned forward. "In fact, everyone is!"

"In that case," he said in a less severe voice. It rose back up to its threatening level with the next few sentences. "In that case, they should be here, too-- not sneaking around behind my back. All of you sicken me! You, especially, being the thorn in my side who's screwed up ever since we got assigned! And Little Miss _Perfect_, if you have something to say about this, then say it to my face--"

" _In_. _Your_. _Face_." Keladry hissed. "In your face, Stone! I'm tell you this to your face, so don't start calling me a coward!"

He drew back his fist, a purely psychotic glint in his eyes. Her eyes widened and she tried to twist away. Joren's fist shot out, not at her, but intentionally at the brick beside her head. The wall absorbed the hit, but no doubt he could feel it in every little bone in his hand. Not a muscle in his face twitched when his knuckles struck the wall and started to bleed. In a quick motion, he pushed off from the wall and started to walk away, cursing to himself. Keladry took long breaths, trying to recover from the confrontation.

She wrapped her arms around herself, pulling her vest closer around her and walking around the motel in the other direction to reach her room. And she still pursed her lips tightly. When they would ask her how it went, she would only glare at them for making her the one to take his verbal blows. And she would glare at them for not realizing how much it hurt.

~~

He was missing the next day-- him and the bike.

The rest of his belongings stayed untouched and unmoved in the guys' room. None of them saw him come in or even pass by. When he didn't sleep on the floor that night, they simply assumed he had gone to blow off some steam. They guessed he eventually would return and everything would be fine.

But everything was not fine.

Keladry sat on top of her bed, trying to watch the news report and pay attention. There was a new investigation on the safety of some hover cars and hover bikes. She groaned and turned the holo-screen off. She got up and paced around her room while Lalasa was busy cooking. 

"Is that just a really, really late lunch?" she asked in a bored voice. Keladry eyed the clock. It was almost three in the afternoon. The shorter, dark haired young woman flashed a smile at her.

"Something like that. I heard something from the corner store when I went to buy milk," she grinned. Keladry couldn't believe how happy and cheery the Carthakian could be. Who would have thought the happiness of others could annoy Keladry Mindelan? She continued. "The arena not too far from here-- it's for racing. Special custom bikes like Joren's… the Black Shadow was built to race!"

"It's Black Knight," Keladry corrected. She frowned. "So, what are you saying?"

Lalasa turned off the mini-stove and set the pot down on another spot. She faced Keladry with a smile. "If Joren wants to keep the bike, all he has to do is race it and win! We've all seen him." She shrugged. "The guy may be a jackass, but he's fast-- really fast."

"You're right." She nodded. "He could keep it that way. So, when's the next race?"

"Tomorrow. They accept entries at any time, even up to five minutes before it begins. Isn't it perfect?" She sighed. "Now, if he would just get here so we can tell him… I feel so bad after last night."

"_You_ feel bad?" Keladry smirked. "At least you didn't go one-on-one with him. That was terrible. I'd rather humiliate myself in front of a crowd of thousands than go through that again."

Her friend washed her hands in the sink. "Yeah, the guys and I are really sorry about that. We weren't thinking of how you would feel talking to Stone like that."

"I wasn't thinking of how I felt about it either," Keladry thought.

~~

She sat on top of an overturned bucket for mops around the back of the motel. It was time for dinner, and she couldn't find her appetite. So, why not sit outside and gaze at the stars? There wasn't a really good view of the constellations within any town or city. To get the clearest view, you had to be out in nature. In a field or on a hill with a telescope-- or just a blanket and a comfortable position to lie down upon it.

All of a sudden, she heard the revving of an engine approaching her. It was distinct. A motorcycle, not a car, was coming close. She knew right away that it was Joren. The lights were off, but the headlight from the front of the Black Knight Custom pierced through the darkness and fell upon his usual parking space. 

She waited until he was parked and off the bike to flip the switch. The lights came on, rather brightly. She dimmed them and shut the lid of the metal box. "Where have you been?"

He took off his helmet and hung it on the back of the seat. "Like I'd tell you…"

Keladry sighed. "Yeah. I know." She got off the bucket and approached him steadily. "Everyone's changed their minds."

A brief look of amusement crossed his face. "Oh?"

"They found out that the arena in this town is especially used for custom bike racing. People come from all over and race here, and yet, the town isn't crowded by tourism." She paused. "It's interesting. Anyway, if you race and win, the guys will let you keep the bike. Sound okay?"

"They don't have any power over whether or not I sell," he spat and started walking away. She growled and jogged to catch up.

"Why not? You'll win! You love to race. All those speeding tickets are proof."

He turned on her as he removed his gloves. "I just don't want to race, all right? Now go away."

She stayed rooted to the spot while he continued to move away from her. "Isn't _this_ irony at its best."

~~

The Next Morning:

"This guy's statistics are pretty impressive," Cleon said. He pointed to a box in Galla's Racing Program. "He's also in today's race. What do you think?"

Faleron wrinkled his nose as he leaned in to look at the print. "Garvey Runnerspring? Is he the best in there?"

"Seems so. Who do you want to bet for?"

He stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Well, I don't know. Runnerspring's record looks good. His number of wins is high and there are very few losses. But if Stone races… Hmm. We don't have his statistics."

"Maybe we can get Stone and here so we can records his stats."

"You mean-- willingly?"

"This is tougher than I thought."

Roald folded his hands behind his head. "Are you really going to bet on the race?"

"Of course!" Faleron grinned. "What kind of fellow would I be if I didn't bet?"

"Normal," Cleon muttered.

He laughed. "Now, now, Grasshopper, once you learn the ways of the secret art of betting, than you will also reach a higher plane of 'normality'. It's all in the chanting." He raised his arms up melodramatically. "Let us chant! To gamble is to take a chance. To take a chance is to live. To gamble is to take a chance. To take a chance is to live--"

"You're crazy!" 

"And this is coming from a man who makes an idiot of himself in front of a crowd just to get attention?"

"I do _not_!"

Faleron turned to Roald. "Any comments?"

"He does," Roald smiled. He flexed his arm. "Come on, Cleon. Go ahead. Feel the biceps. Nice, eh?"

"Shut up! You two are ganging up on me!" the redhead protested.

The door opened. The three young men suddenly turned to look at Joren as he crossed the room, picked up a black duffel bag, and left again. Faleron took off his hat and held it to his chest. 

"Now, that seemed kind of strange."

"Who cares! What I want to know is…"

~~

Keladry glanced out the window at the same time as Joren passed by. Without alerting Lalasa-- who was mending a hole in Cleon's shirt, Keladry got up and walked out. She gently closed the door and quickened her pace to catch up with her partner. When she did, she called out. "Stone! Wait!"

He stopped and faced her. "What now? Haven't you hassled me enough?"

"Listen, about the bike…"

"None of you have to fucking complain anymore," he said in a low, resentful voice.

She stood rigid. "And what does that mean?"

"I sold it at the dealership near the arena," he replied and began walking away again. She stared after him in shock for a few moments, then ran to catch up.

"Wait a minute! You did _what_?"

He glared at her. "You _heard_ me. I sold it. So, leave me alone already."

"Y-you actually sold it?"

"Yes!" he hissed. "So go away! I don't want to hear any more of your damn righteous speeches on what's fair and what's costing us money. It gives me a headache."

She scratched her head and walked slightly behind him. "But, you're okay with it? Selling, I mean."

He didn't respond. 

"You didn't have to."

They reached the corner store. Joren swung the door open, ringing the bell above the doorway. He walked through the last isle, picking up a case of something she couldn't tell. Keladry continued to follow him, much to his frustration. The cashier gawked at them and their weird clothing, but only read off their total amount when they went up to pay.

"Stop following me," he warned.

"Why did you sell? I thought that bike was important to you."

He still didn't respond to her question. "Look, I am walking out that door and you are not tagging along." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a plastic card. "Here's the credit for the money the bike sold for. Take it and leave me alone." And with that, he brushed past her and strode out the door. Keladry stood there, with the card in hand until she finally shook her head and left the store as well. She headed in a different direction than him, with something on her mind.

~~

Joren walked aimlessly around Galla for the latter of that morning and early afternoon. He stopped only once to get a drink and then continued on. It was amazing that he didn't become tired. The old iron benches called to him, urging him to sit and to think about what was bothering him, but he couldn't. He couldn't stay still long enough for thoughts to be examined and re-examined.

The arena loomed over him, showing off its freshly painted walls and supports. Toward the back was a mural of a race, one man in lead with two others at his flank. Some parts of the faded mural were chipped away by age. It was disappointing they didn't take care of the mural. It was one of the more down to Earth touches of the structure. The rest was modern. The rest reeked of modern day efficiency and cold, emotionless metal. 

Quite like him.

He didn't go near the arena, and seemed ever the more eager to get away from it as fast as possible when he realized he had arrived there. Every now and then, a person would walk inside, either to reserve their seats for the race or to check out the racers registered thus far.

The blonde biker stared at the ground as he walked, still glimpsing most of the world around him so he didn't crash into anything. Shortly after leaving the arena area, he arrived at a custom racing dealership. This building had plain glass windows that allowed a person to see the whole entire place without stepping inside. The lot in front of the dealership was crowded with motorbikes, and then a few motorcycles. Inside on display were the latest hoverbikes.

Joren liked all types of bikes. He was satisfied with the performance of hoverbikes, but nothing beat the sensation of the ground beneath you as you sped more and more into the unknown distance.

He moved to where his bike had been when he had sold it that morning. It was five hours later, and hopefully, no one had bought it. Maybe if he could spend the rest of the group's time in Galla coming to the window and staring at his bike, he could gradually let go and move on with his life.

Move on with his life? Was that how obsessed he had become? All these years, working and remodeling, and replacing, and upgrading-- all on this single bike, which now became a display in some dealership? It was insulting, but he didn't have much of a choice. He could not race, even if he wanted to. _They_ would know.

And so, Joren looked up to the spot where his bike should have been propped up. There was one problem.

It was missing. The platform for which the Black Knight Custom X40 was placed was empty. The sleek black motorcycle was not to be seen throughout the store. He burst through the front doors. The salesman recognized him immediately, but spoke nothing and continued on with his paperwork.

"What the…" Joren cursed. He marched over to the front desk. "Where is it? Where's the Black Knight Custom?"

"Bought," the man replied heartlessly, more concerned with numbers and accounts than the distress of a young man. Joren banged his fists on the desktop. 

"I can't believe this! Who bought it? It hasn't even been a day!"

The man looked up at him briefly and decided to help him out. He showed Joren a filled out form and pointed with his ballpoint pen. "She bought it."

Keladry Mindelan.

Joren stared at the paper. "What?"

"She bought it less than an hour ago. Insisted on taking it out right away."

He couldn't believe his eyes. He read the name over and over again, unable to keep his usual scowl upon his face. Something inside his chest was lifted. He even started to breathe easier. His bike was not to spend the rest of its days gathering dust in Galla. He walked out the dealership. He could barely hide his smirk.

"So, the screw-up is not so much a screw-up after all."

"Who are you calling a screw up?" a voice said from behind. He whirled around. Keladry leaned against the side of the Laundromat next door. Beside her was his black motorcycle. He decreased the distance between them in no time. Quickly, he ran his hands over the motorcycle, compulsively checking every last thing. She watched calmly, observing his change in attitude and expression.

"Where'd you get the money?" He asked while straddling the bike.

"The same money you got from selling it," she replied simply.

He shook his head. "What did the rest of the wimps say?"

She frowned at the word 'wimps', but let it slide. "They didn't even know you sold it. I didn't really have a reason to tell them."

"I still don't understand. Why did you buy it back if you knew I wasn't going to race?"

She shrugged. "Wish I knew. So," she hooked her thumbs into her pockets and came closer to him. "Can I go for a ride on my bike?"

He snorted derisively. "Your bike? Since when was this your bike?"

She tapped her foot and counted on her fingers. "Well, you gave me the money. The money became mine. I bought the bike with my money. Therefore, it is also mine. Does that clear it up for you?"

He rolled his eyes. "Sure…"

"Good. Now, get off. I want to check out my new bike," she said, making a shooing motion with her hand. He retained his smirk.

"Like I'd ever let you take out this bike by yourself."

She folded her arms. "Hey--"

"Get on."

She blinked. "What?"

"I said 'get on'. Are you deaf?" he gave her a once over. "You said you wanted to go for a ride, right? So, let's go. The Black Knight wasn't really meant to seat two, but you'll be fine." He pointed over her shoulder. "The back door to the dealership is always unlocked. Go in and borrow a spare helmet."

She eyed him distrustfully. She couldn't believe this was happening. "You're not going to leave while I'm getting it, are you?"

"I'm offended," he said, imitating Faleron. It was unreal the way Joren was acting. He seemed almost happy. Keladry did as she was instructed. Within a few seconds, she came back with a red helmet. He nodded approvingly and gestured for her to get on the bike. Cautiously, she lifted one leg and swung it over the seat. He turned to look at her.

"Put on your helmet. You're the one always being a safety freak," he said while putting on his own helmet. Keladry remembered back when she rode her own motorcycle during the first mission. Once again, she had to get used to the helmet. When he saw she was ready, he continued. "Hold on to my waist… unless you _want_ to fall off."

She would have glared at him, but he probably wouldn't have seen it through the helmet. Keladry hesitantly encircled his waist with her arms. She thought to herself about the situation. And she realized that she had never seen anyone ride with Joren on his bike. Did that mean she was the first? It wasn't a big deal, but at that moment, it felt good. She smiled.

They rode out of the parking lot on onto the street that went all the way to the countryside. Keladry couldn't describe the feeling. She could feel the wind against her, and every bump in the ground beneath her. All the buildings blurred together as they raced along. And then, after a few minutes, there weren't even buildings to look at. Long, wide fields where the flowers grew-- all different colors and types. The trees swayed in the same wind as the flowers, waving hello to her.

Joren started to speed up. Keladry's heart began to pound. Adrenaline once again took its place in her body. The thrill was in her blood. She instinctively held on to him a bit more. He gasped slightly when he felt her arms tighten around him. It was not something he was used to at all. He'd never ridden with another person. This encouraged him to speed up. After the depressing day, he wanted to go swiftly like the wind, but powerful and graceful at the same time. He leaned in on a curve, past grassy knolls and random rocks. 

There was a place he wanted to see. It was not until that moment that he realized he was on his way towards it. Old habits die hard, he concluded. Joren slowed down so he could catch sight of it. And, almost regretfully, her grip loosened from him. Joren left the road and started down a path of worn grass, where once a dirt path had been. They rode up an almost leveled slope. It overlooked a site with broken wood. The vines and the plants grew over the wood. Keladry could barely make out the shape of a house. Barely any flecks or chips of white paint remained on the structure. From the way it was left, the house had probably been two stories and had a porch. And the way it came down was not by forces of nature like the wind or rain-- but fire.

They got off the bike, leaving the bike to stand at the bottom of the hill. Joren sighed almost imperceptibly and kicked a small stone to the bottom of the slope.

"Why are we here?" she asked.

Joren paused before answering. He looked up at the sky, then back down at the house. "This is where I lived."

Keladry stared at him. She was at a loss for words. Joren Stone came from Galla? --In the Yamanis?

The special operative had anticipated her questions. He folded his arms and nodded toward the remnants of the house. "I was born and raised in Galla. We lived here in the countryside- my parents and I-- good people." His eyes became wistful. "Especially my father." Joren sighed. "He was a biker, too. He raced. I guess that's where I get my natural love of bikes from." He pointed back to the road. "That's where he practiced, and the arena was where he shined. Everyone knew his name."

He sat down in the soft grass and beckoned for her to join him. She hesitantly did so, still awkward around the new Joren. Dimly, she realized that she was sinking into her listening role again. She had listened to Cleon, and listened to Faleron, Lalasa, and Roald. It seemed almost ordinary for her to be there beside her partner, learning of his past. "Go ahead. What else?"

He glanced at her and smiled slightly. "He won a lot of races. I used to think he was the greatest man in the world." He brushed a few strands of hair from his forehead. "And even in the spotlight, he still had time for Mom and me. Took her out dancing. Took me to the arena to see him. Taught me how to race on motorbikes by the time I was 12. Motorcross was cool." He shrugged. "I guess I liked it, considering I'd never done anything else. But now that I think back on it, I'm much happier on a real motorcycle than one of those."

"Seems like that to me, too," she thought, not daring to interrupt his reminiscing.

"So, life was good. I had everything I ever wanted and I was very grateful. I did everything I was asked to, and my father showed me a whole, new world." He nibbled on his lower lip for three seconds, then started to stand up. "Let's go."

She scrambled to her feet. "Wait, that's it?"

"Yeah. So let's get out of here."

She shook her head. "No, just a second. How did you end up in Mithros if you're native to the Yamanis?"

"I don't want to talk about it," he said and started down the slope. She grabbed his sleeve.

"And let it fester more than it already has? Come on, tell me," Keladry goaded nervously. Usually, everyone just let it out. They didn't hold back from their ranting. But Joren did. And this time, she really wanted to know. She let go of his arm.

He studied her for a few moments, then let out a deep breath. He rubbed the back of his neck. "When I was 13, my father was accused of putting illegal parts on his bike to go faster." He clenched his fist and stared back at his house. "I couldn't believe it. They all knew my father. He'd never do that!" Anger was crawling into this tone. "They actually found the parts on it. They had to have been put there on purpose by someone else! He was framed!"

He kicked the ground, sending a spray of dirt and grass forth from his foot. "And you know what those assholes did? They banished him from the Galla Arena and banished any other Stone ever to come along." He stifled a scream of rage. "Those mother fuckers are still there, the same blind old men who kicked my dad out! They always frowned when he would win a race, and never seemed like they wanted to give him his trophies." He spat. "And they were all too eager to take back every single one." He began walking toward the house. Keladry's eyes widened. She went to catch up to him.

"And…"

"And I remember the day. I just came down for breakfast and Mom was crying." He reached the broken, sagging porch, with no roof at all. He ran his hand over a brass doorknob on the ground. "They were taking back all his trophies, all his medals. And he stood there-- his face set in a grim way. He saw me and told me to go to my room. When I wouldn't go, my mother took me and left me there upstairs for hours." The blonde closed his eyes, as if suddenly remembering every last detail and seeing it in his head. Keladry gulped nervously. 

"Joren?" she whispered.

He opened his eyes and looked up where the second story of the house used to be. "We were okay for a few weeks. We lived in isolation. My mother became stronger in mind. She set herself as the one to go into town. If my father went, they would scream at him, or do worse. It was so humiliating how people who once chanted his name so happily despised him for supposedly cheating them. They had not faith in him, not the same way I did." He stepped toward the porch some more so Keladry gazed at his backside. His hands were trembling in their black gloves. "Rumors flew around Galla, exaggerating my father's so-called crimes. Weeks later, he not only put illegal parts on his bike to win, but he sabotaged other people's bikes. Weeks after his banishment from the arena, someone was sabotaging the competitor's bikes and leaving the blame on him. My father never went into town! Those pricks didn't know what they were talking about!"

Keladry shrank back when his voice started to get louder. He was on the verge of bursting out every emotion in him.

"And you know what, Mindelan?"

She gulped again, with a dry throat. "Yeah?"

"One night, they set fire to our house."

He stayed silent after that. She stared at him, her eyes moistening from his sad story. And all at once, everything made sense. The reason why he was so cold toward everyone… the reason why he loved bikes… why he did not want to stay in Galla, or why he didn't want to go inside the arena. And…

And the burn scars.

Joren seemed to hear her thoughts. He went on to describe the event. "I was asleep for the longest time. I didn't even know the fire was surrounding my bed until I heard my mother's scream. And then, Dad rammed through my door and leapt over the fire to get to me. He shook me awake--" Here, Keladry heard a sniffling sound. He was crying. "And lifted me up. But when we turned around, the fire was already all over the door. The wood was breaking. Everything was on fire. Pieces of the ceiling fell. The fire was so hot. It was an inferno in there. I thought I was going to die." He angrily wiped at his eyes. She still could not see his face. "And he threw me out the window just as a rafter fell on him."

And there he stood, staring at the remnants of his childhood home. After minutes that felt like hours, he spoke again. "I was lucky I didn't break my neck. Just a sprained wrist and lot of bruises, some bad burns. I went to a neighbor, far deeper into the countryside. They took me in until I was healthy enough to go back." He paused. "There was hardly anything left. My parents were dead. Fucking murdered."

He kicked at the porch. "It wasn't fair! They didn't do anything!" Tears were streaming down his cheeks. Keladry ran to grab hold of him and drag him away, but he shook her off and continued his abuse his former home. "Why the hell did they set fire to our house? Wasn't it enough that they destroyed his spirit? Wasn't it enough they ruined _my_ life?" He punched at the freestanding post until it toppled over, screaming in fury. "They didn't have to kill them! Nobody in town cared! When I finally went back to withdraw money out the bank, they gave me their pitying looks. I didn't need anyone's damn pity! I just wanted revenge!"

He stopped, finally. Panting, his knees buckled beneath him and he collapsed to the ground. He struck the grass with his fist. "And they told me I was too young, too weak to do anything. I couldn't stand the Yamanis anymore. There was too much left to remind me of everything gone wrong. And no future at all. It seemed natural to leave." He wiped at his eyes again. "So I left. No big deal. I wanted to become better so fast, so I could be strong. So I could be great, but not in Galla. There was no way I was coming back here." He shifted off his legs and sat on his bottom. Keladry knelt beside him, then she sat with her own legs tucked underneath her.

"Is that why you went through training so fast?"

"And was an asshole the whole time?" he said, tears still running down his cheeks. "Yeah. I guess. I didn't want anyone to hear my story. I didn't need their stupid pity. And because of that, I threw away my humanity. There was no room for that in a world where great men were framed and persecuted for crimes they never committed. Who needs to be human? Who needs to have kindness and warmth?" he screamed out to the sky. "Those _heartless_ bastards are still here! They still run the races and I wouldn't be at all shocked if they still cheated people!"

Sensing he was about to fall over the edge, Keladry clutched his shoulder and tried to calm him. "Hey, hey. Just take it easy."

He looked in her eyes, the fierceness in the arctic depths of his irises melted. And all the intimidation disappeared from him in those few moments. He was human-- not a frozen hearted shadow of a man. He was human. Impulsively, Joren hugged her. And she hugged him back. He cried softly onto her shoulder while she stroked the back of his head and made soothing mitigation like any mother would. His body was warm, the complete opposite of how she imagined the icy young man to be.

"It's okay," she whispered, taking his right hand in hers. He flinched. And she remembered and tugged off his glove. His knuckles were pink and raw from when he punched the brick the other night. She squeezed his hand gently. He sniffled a bit more before turning his face up towards hers. It was amazing. His eyes held so much more emotion than her whole known record of him combined. Awkwardly, she said, "It's okay."

Their foreheads were pressed together. She could feel his tears soak through her shirt. And she could feel them on her fingertips. It was frighteningly hard to believe _she_ wasn't crying by then. Her eyes were moist though. He reached up and barely touched her eyelashes. And then, Joren leaned forward and kissed her.

It was an explosion of emotion inside of her. Her heart was pounding between her ears. All the blood rushed to her head. She closed her eyes and basked in the moment. After all the years of a prude and ignoring love, it vented out her unknown desire to _want_ to fall in love. Keladry didn't know what to think at that moment. Her mind was blank as his lips continued to press against hers in a sweet dream. And like all dreams, they woke up.

Joren was the one to part them. He gazed at her calmly, his tears ceased. For the brief amount of time, she couldn't think of anything, nor could she guess his thoughts.

"Keladry--" he began.

Her pager beeped. The reverie was broken forever. Joren grabbed her wrist and overturned it to see the message screen. Like a passing wind, his usual mood returned and chilled her. "It's Kennan. They're at the arena."

He got up and started to jog to his bike. She followed him in a slight daze. They sat on the bike and rode off down the road. She held onto him no tighter than before. Keladry was still recovering from the magical instant in time.

~~

"And in first place… Garvey Runnerspring!" a loud voice blared from all around. Lalasa leaned over the rail to squint at the three men standing on different sized boxes, holding their medals that hung around their necks in one hand and waving with the other. She nudged Faleron. 

"So, you bet on him, right?"

"Yes," he nodded. "He's the favorite around here."

Cleon yawned. "Looks like a snob to me."

Roald shrugged. "Yeah, I guess…"

"Aww, look at him! He looks worse than Faleron when he's smug!"

The thief pouted. "Hey, now…"

"Oh, shut up, all three of you!" Lalasa ordered. "I'm stuck with the Three Stooges."

"Hey!" Keladry called out as she and Joren made their way through the crowd. "What happened?"

Faleron pointed out to the track. "Runnerspring in first while Quinden Martihill and Yancen Irenroha are in second and third."

Joren narrowed his eyes. "Did you say Runnerspring?"

"Yeah. Right over there."

He growled low in his throat. "Stuck up brat gets the top of the line stuff because his grandfather used to be a judge."

"Whoa, wait a minute! You know people?" Faleron grinned. "Great! You, my good man, are coming with me to the betting stands!"

He shook his head. "No. I'm going to talk to Runnerspring. He and I have some unfinished business. Stay here."

Lalasa blinked. "Unfinished business?"

They watched him leave the stands and enter the track just as the competitors were making their way out. He caught hold of Garvey Runnerspring and said something to him. The group could not tell what he was saying since none could read lips. Garvey started to grin, not in a good way, but like he had nothing to lose. He motioned for Joren to follow him.

~~

"So! If it isn't Stone! Back again after so, so, long," Garvey laughed as they went into the locker room. He wiped the sheen of sweat off his forehead. "I still remember when we were racing against each other on motorbikes, don't you?"

Joren nodded. "Yeah. I remember." He literally forced the next words out of his mouth. "I wanted to say congratulations."

Garvey faked a gasp. "Joren Stone? Congratulating _me_? Oh, I think I can die a happy man now!"

"Don't push it, Runnerspring. I could still beat you."

"Like hell you could," the racer snorted. "Not unless you fixed up your bike with some top of the line illegal shit imported from across seas, right?"

Joren clenched his fists. "Hey, shut up. You know what happened back then wasn't true."

He nodded, but shrugged at the same time. "Hey, I was just a kid back then, too. I don't know what's true or not."

"Then stop acting like it is," Joren hissed.

"Whatever," Garvey snickered. "You're just sour because I'm a successful man now and you've been running away your whole life. Running away from Galla because you were too weak to handle your father's terrible burden."

Joren ground his teeth. "You better shut your mouth."

"Make me."

"Race."

"Race? You want to race me? With what?"

"My father's bike. The Black Knight Custom X40 against your Raging Skysong."

Garvey started to laugh uncontrollably. "You? Race me? No way! I couldn't embarrass you like that!" He nudged him. "There are still people in the stands. They don't want to see a Stone lose _again_."

"I told you to stop cracking jokes about my dad."

"Why should I? Whatever I say, goes around here. That's the way of the winners. So why don't you haul ass back to the stands and watch me tear up the track again in the victory lap?"

"Pompous son of a bitch," Joren said under his breath.

"Oh, someone's jealous," Garvey taunted as he turned his back and started to walk to the sink. 

"Race me so we can prove who's better!" 

The first place winner laughed again. "In your dreams, loser!"

"Are you sure?"

"Ha! Of course!"

"You asked for it."

Garvey frowned and whirled around. Joren punched him hard in the jaw, a right cross that knocked Garvey unconscious. The guy didn't even see it coming. He crumbled to the floor unconscious. The blonde brushed himself off, walking away with a smirk on his face.

"I admit it didn't feel as satisfying as beating him in a race, but good enough…"

~~

Keladry sat uncomfortably in front of the motel. Everyone else was inside, talking amongst themselves why Garvey Runnerspring hadn't taken his usual victory lap for the crowd to see. She had a funny feeling it had something to do with a certain special operative from Tusaine, but she didn't want to confront him about it. The reminder of the kiss that morning was still pricking away at her like a needle. Both good that she was reminded with every sharp sting, both bad in how much it hurt to see the afterward behavior of the blonde in question.

Joren finally came into view. He opened his collar a bit to expose his throat to the air. It was hot and humid that afternoon. It was a great feat for any man to be wearing black in that weather. She stood up and cleared her throat. "Hey."

He blinked. "Oh. Hey."

"Can we talk for a second?" she asked nervously, toeing the concrete with her shoe. He nodded.

"Yeah. Go ahead."

"About earlier, at your house…" She touched her lips with shaky hands.

He let out a deep breath. "Oh yeah. I've been meaning to talk to you about that." He scratched the back of his head. "It was all a mistake. I was kind of shook up from recalling all that heinous crap about my family and Galla. My head was messed up. I did something I shouldn't have. Sorry if I lead you on or anything."

Prick, prick.

"Oh, no," she said, covering up her hurt as best she could. "It's cool. It felt kind of weird to me anyway. I'm glad it's not leading to anything, actually."

"Good. Officers don't date each other," he nodded. "It's better we forget about the whole thing. See you around, Mindelan." He walked off.

She bit her lip. "We aren't officers anymore…"

~~

Neal looked up from his magazine when the communications screen started to beep. He rolled across the floor in the mobile chair and answered it. There was no image. "Hello?"

"I…"

"Hello? Who is this?"

The person calling him didn't say anything more. Neal frowned. 

"Hello? Anyone there?" He pressed random buttons on the screen. "Owen, if this is you, I'm going to kick your butt, man. Seriously! Who is this?"

~~

Keladry ended the transmission. She wanted to talk to someone so badly. For once, _she_ wanted to tell _her_ story and have someone listen to _her_. She knew it was bad to call Neal. Someone would find out and turn her in. If she were lucky, Neal would not report the call and no one would trace it. 

"Another screw up," she muttered and walked inside. "Nothing ever goes right for me. Especially concerning him," she thought, thinking back to the icy blonde. "My first kiss was a mistake. Of course it was. Everything I do nowadays screws up."

~~

Author: …That was long. My perfect episode was long. *wipes forehead* Well, now I know I'm capable of extremely long chapters. I hope you enjoyed it. I expect many, many, MANY reviews. Talk to me, people. Oh, and when you review, mention the chapter you're reviewing. The chaptering system makes everyone's reviews show up under episode 1. *sweatdrop*

Closing Credits:

Special thanks to those who helped me with descriptions:

( Note: These people are VERY cool. Do not mess with them.)

Kestrel

Erin (Hyper Girl to the Rescue)

Sullychkk (Whose name is Caitie…)

And also to the people who volunteered to help with my web page:

FireLily

Jaelawyn Noble

   [1]: mailto:silverwLng@aol.com



	15. Cleon, My Hero

It Could Be Worse

Episode 15: Cleon, My Hero

By Sulia Serafine

[2-2-01. A Protector of the Small fanfic set in an alternate universe; all credit goes to Tamora Pierce. And for the last time! I don't own the Three Stooges! So don't mention how I'm using them! As I've said before, I'm broke, so you can't sue me.

Oh, one more thing: BAD LANGUAGE (I. E. cursing, swearing…). You have been warned!

E-mail me at [silverwLng@aol.com][1], okay? Thank you and have a nice day.

P.S. Sorry this took so long again. I've been busy. It's something you just have to accept. (Not that I _want_ to…) Darn writer's block! Once you've written something like Episode 14, it's hard to make a follow up…]

Cleon Kennan yawned. He was so tired, and so very bored. Idly, he fogged the window with his breath and drew pictures with his finger. He made a little squeaking noise as his fingertips moved over the glass. After a while, he grew disinterested in that, too, and slumped down in his seat. 

They had left Galla after the incident at the arena. Garvey Runnerspring had found their motel and demanded Joren's head on a platter. They, excluding Joren, just stared at him sympathetically before the blonde biker stepped out… and punched him again. From there, it was a scramble for Joren's motorcycle and a bus heading out of Galla. They barely escaped the wrath of more arena officials upon hearing of Joren. Everyone but he and Keladry were a bit confused by this, but the two did not speak a word.

In fact, Cleon observed, they hardly said anything to anyone. It was normal for Joren to keep to himself, but every once in a while he was obliged to yell at the redhead or the thief-- which Joren did not do. Cleon had annoyed Lalasa and Roald for half an hour, and not a word from him. Keladry, on the other hand, spoke when she was spoken to. She pretended to be listening in the conversation, and almost about to participate, but she never did. The smile was not real. He knew fake smiles.

"Hey, Tough Stuff!" Cleon leaned over the isle and touched his finger to the tip of her nose. She recoiled and made a face.

"Yes?"

"Is something bothering you?"

She shook her head. "No. I was just… thinking."

He reluctantly sat back in his seat. "Oh. Okay. So, what are you think--"

"Don't you usually talk to Faleron?" Keladry asked irritably, glancing about for the charismatic young man. 

"He's asleep in front of me."

She twisted her head to see Faleron and nodded. Then, she sat back and started gazing out the window, choosing to completely ignore him. Offended, he folded his arms and slumped further down into his seat. Each member of his group was being absolutely boring. What in the world was a tall, enthusiastic redhead supposed to do with all his penned up energy?

He stretched his arms to his sides and yawned. 

"Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall, ninety-nine bottles of beer… Take one down; pass it around-- ninety-eight bottles of beer on the wall. Ninety-eight bottles of beer on the wall, ninety eight bottles of beer…"

~~

Keladry glanced briefly out the window at Joren on his bike, completely enveloped in his own thoughts. She wondered fleetingly if he even cared about what happened-- if he even acknowledged the ephemeral passage in time when he was human. Flesh and blood. And tears.

__

"It was all a mistake. I was kind of shook up… My head was messed up. I did something I shouldn't have. Sorry if I led you on or anything…"

Yes. He had been shook up. That didn't explain _why_ he had done it, why he had kissed her. Keladry was not bothered by the action itself more than its motives. Could it be a hidden affection for her? Some sort of love? Or was it just what he had said, a mistake with no reason at all. Maybe their closeness had been so tempting that he just went ahead and took the liberty of giving Kel her first kiss. 

She scolded herself silently for letting it consume her thoughts. It wasn't like she was in love. It was simply her first kiss. It was natural to think about it, about every detail. Besides, how could she every fall for an arrogant, disdainful, and rude biker from Tusaine, or actually, Galla? He showed no emotion but hate and anger. He was violent. 

He was a lost man who'd been thrown headfirst off the just path. And he'd never actually got back onto his feet on the path after that. Joren just wandered on and off, in search of something he could never find-- something she would never know.

Keladry sighed and decided to sleep off the rest of the bus ride. She snuggled down into a comfortable position and closed her eyes. But sleep did not come.

~~

"Welcome to Scanra."

The billboard in front of the city was bright and cheery. The homes past it were neat and orderly. Every single house was identical. All the buildings of the business district looked identical as well. White picket fences bordered all the fresh green lawns. There were two cars in every garage. There was one flowerbed next to the front door. The only thing that differed was the colors of the houses and the cars in the garages. It amazed the group as the bus passed through the neighborhood and further into the city.

"You'd think this was a movie set or something," Cleon thought. He reached over the bus seat and nudged Faleron. "Wake up, Fal. Take a look at this."

The sleepy young man rubbed his eyes like a child and stretched. "Hmm? Take a look at what?"

"This city," Lalasa said as she entered the conversation. "It's Scanra, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Cleon nodded. "Wake up, Fal!"

"I'm up! Don't talk so loud, Kennan." Faleron sat up and peered out the window. His eyes widened. "That's awfully strange."

The bus went on to drop them off in the middle of the city at the bus depot. The air was cleaner than most city air. But there was an awful stench coming from down the street. Cleon turned and wrinkled his nose. "Garbage truck?"

"And the place was _this_ close to being perfect," Lalasa sighed. Suddenly, her face lit up. She tapped Keladry on the shoulder. "I have to take you and Joren somewhere. You have to meet someone."

Keladry frowned. "Since when did you have connections in Scanra?"

She folded her arms. "I just do. We can find out more information on what's happening in Mithros from him."

Roald stepped forward. "I'll go, too."

Lalasa flinched. She turned to him and clasped his hand in both of hers. Roald meant so much to her, and she didn't want him to feel rejected. So, with a soft voice, she said, "I want you to stay with the rest of the guys. The bumbling fools will need _your_ protection."

"Hey!" Cleon interjected. "That isn't nice, 'Lasa!" He stuck his tongue out.

The vice president's son blinked. "But why? Something might happen to you--"

"I'll be fine." She hooked arms with Keladry and grinned. "I have ex-DJPF officers for protection. Right?"

Joren growled softly as he got off his bike. Then he hung his helmet on the back of the seat. He'd been following the bus and just now decided to join them. "This better be worth our time. Kennan, King, Jasson… you three find a place to stay. How long is this going to take, Isran? We have more important things to do."

"I don't know. We might stay over for a couple of days with him."

Cleon suddenly whooped. "Days without you! Yes! This is gr-- OW!"

Lalasa stomped on his foot. He hopped on one foot, cursing. Roald sighed and Faleron rolled his eyes. After a few more minutes of talking, they decided that Keladry, Joren, and Lalasa would contact the rest of the guys when they were done, and not before then. The three young bachelors were to find a place to stay and secure it while waiting for the former to finish their business (although Faleron and Roald thought it incredibly unfair that they were missing out on the action). 

That evening:

Faleron flipped the light switch to their hotel room and trudged over to the first bed. He flung his bags onto it and touched his lower back gently. He yawned from exhaustion. "You know, a lot can happen in a couple of days."

Roald put down his baggage. He sat down on the bed next to that one and scratched his head. "I wonder what was so important. Lalasa never told me she had connections in Scanra. I thought she'd told me everything by now."

"Aww, girl troubles?" Cleon taunted as he jumped onto the bed beside him. He started bouncing high enough to hit his head on the ceiling. "Hey! This bed is pretty good! Can I have this one Roald? I slept on the floor last time!"

Faleron snorted. "No, you didn't. You threw me out of _my_ bed and slept there."

The redhead smiled sheepishly and ceased his bouncing, much to Roald's relief. Cleon leapt off the bed and paced about the small room. There was thin tan carpeting and blank white walls. In a corner were a refrigerator, a sink, and a stove. Then opposite of it was the bathroom. A holo-screen was the only object to adorn the blank off-white walls. "So, Fal, buddy, do you think you'll find your precious gambling circuits around here?"

The dignified young man laughed. "In Scanra? I wish."

Cleon shrugged. "Well, maybe we'll make our own, huh?" He sat down beside his best friend. "I actually feel like playing cards tonight, even _if_ I'm going to lose. So, what do you say?"

His comrade shrugged. "I think I'm going to go out for a walk," Faleron said impulsively. "Something inside me feels like going for a walk." He shrugged again. "And that's especially strange since I'm tired from carrying those bags all day."

"Are you sure that's safe? Uh, going for a walk-- I mean." Roald asked.

He nodded. "Look at Scanra! It's so… quaint. What could possibly happen?" He smiled slightly. "Do either of you gentlemen care to join me?"

"No, thanks. Have fun, Fal. And don't steal anything!" Cleon called after the thief, who promptly gave him a vulgar hand signal, then ironically, a tip of his hat. The door closed quietly behind him. He turned to Roald. "So, what do you want to do?"

"Sleep," he replied. "There's nothing much else to do anyhow. Lalasa's not here to talk to."

"I can talk with you!"

Roald stared at him.

"What?" Cleon raised an eyebrow. "I can't be talked with?"

"Yelled at, yes," Roald chuckled. "Talked with, no."

"Aww, that hurts, man."

A snicker. "I'm sure it does, Kennan."

~~

Faleron walked along the dark streets with his hands in his pockets, hat tilted on his head. Brand new streetlights lit his path. Not a stray dead leaf had fallen on the sidewalk, despite all the trees surrounding him. It was really unbelievable how perfectly average the city was. He strolled down a neighborhood street, listening to the crickets from the pond nearby, and then of the owl in the old oak. The shadows fell across the sidewalk now, and he couldn't see his own feet. 

"Need more lights on this street," he commented absently and walked on. 

A sudden noise alerted his senses. His head turned sharply toward the source. Across the street, the door to a light blue house stood ajar. Faleron glanced around him. The street was empty save for him. He jogged across and made his way slowly towards the door. He knew the sounds of a fellow thief as he.

Which brought Faleron to the question, Why was he interfering? It was something you didn't do in his line of work, interfering with a fellow thief. Sure, you saw it in the movies all the time. One thief competing against another to get the precious treasure-- but that didn't happen in real life. In real life, every 'thief' kept to his own turf, his own claim. Well, that was how it happened in his world. It was an unspoken rule of respect for him.

So why was he breaking it?

"It's not a burglary," he thought. "Something doesn't feel right."

He cautiously entered the house, flattening himself against the hallway walls as he went. There were scuffles of feet somewhere else in the house. Faleron wish he had a weapon, but he didn't. This was insane. He had to get out of the house and get help. But something else told him it would be too late.

"Thief!" a man yelled. 

"Damn it!" another man yelled. There was a crashing noise. Then, the sounds of punches and blows being exchanged made their way to his ears. Faleron ran down the dim hall toward the master bedroom at the end. The lights were on. The lights went on in two other rooms. 

"Daddy! What happened?"

Children.

Faleron backed into the shadows again as they doors opened and a boy around nine and a girl around eight came out. He heard the screams of a woman, and then the first man again. 

"Billy! Call 911!" the man yelled. The boy ran past Faleron and down the hall. There was a clatter as he knocked the phone off the high counter and started to dial for help. Faleron was frozen in place. He didn't know what to do. 

He heard a gunshot. Then, there was a heavy thud. Silence.

"Jon!" the woman shrieked. The little girl started towards the door, but he dashed forward and grabbed her from getting any closer. She screamed.

"No! No, shh," he whispered, covering the girl's mouth. "I'm a good guy!" He picked up the struggling child and ran into her room. He set her down and tried to quiet her, but she was bawling. He cursed under his breath and went back out, locking the door behind him. 

"Shut up, bitch!" the intruder screamed. Faleron heard a slap from the other side of the door. He backed up in the hall to get a running start. Then he took off, ramming through the door. He burst into the room. Bullets flew past his head as he threw himself at the dark clad man and assaulted him.

A woman in her early thirties fell to her knees. She was crying hysterically over her bleeding husband. The man, with thinning black hair was lying limply on the floor in a pool of his own dark red blood. 

"What the hell!" The man tried to point his gun at Faleron, but the thief was holding on tightly to the other's arm and trying to force it away. They grappled for the gun violently. The man kicked him in the stomach. But Faleron rammed his middle and brought him down to the floor again. He punched him madly in the face, but with one well placed kick, the younger man was thrown off.

"Oh my God!" the woman sobbed. She tried to drag her husband away from the fight, tears coursing down her cheeks as she feebly backed away. 

Faleron spat blood onto the floor as he was kicked in the stomach again. He couldn't breathe. It hurt so much. If only he could just die, instead of continue on. But there was an innocent family in the crossfire. They were not going to die. He would not allow it. Faleron grabbed the intruder's foot again as it came towards him and twisted. The man fell on his side, screaming profanities. He tried his best to hold the man down, but again he lost and was struck violently on the side of his head. 

"Daddy! Mommy! What's going on?" the little boy cried as appeared in the doorway. His plump cheeks were pale and his soft brown hair was tousled. The woman reached out to him as she held on desperately to her husband.

"Billy! Run!"

"Shit!" the man yelled and aimed his gun. 

"No!" Faleron screamed.

~~

__

The stricken look in the little boy's expression will haunt me forever. His body fell to the floor and made a thud sound just as his father's had. The woman abandoned her husband to cry over her son. But as she turned her back, the bastard shot her, too. I couldn't do anything. I couldn't… I couldn't get to them fast enough. 

God, I would have taken the bullets for them. That son of a bitch! I can still hear him scream his curses as he shot at them. Something inside me tore loose. His back was to me as he finished off the innocent woman. I jumped him from behind again, this time, wrenching my arm around his neck. I got a good grip of his head. And with a feral cry, I twisted it.

There was a loud crack as his neck broke. His body slumped down and myself with it. All my energy spent, I landed in the first man's puddle of blood while the blank eyes of the burglar stared at me. I tried so hard to get up. The girl was screaming from her room. She was alive. She was safe. She had to stay that way. Not after what happened to her family… Not…after that…

She was safe. But the problem was that as the police crashed into the house and approached my fallen self, I knew I wasn't.

~~

Cleon was having the greatest dream of his life. He was back home in Tortall, at Headquarters. Not only had he proven his worthiness of his rank, but also proven so much strength and valor that he was quickly promoted to first class. He was wearing a brand new field uniform-- still green-- and a brand new automatic handgun at his side. Everyone was calling him by name. 

Ahead of him in the crowd, all his friends were clapping while they stood on a platform, waiting for him to join them. He eagerly reached them and was helped up. They patted him on the back, giving handshakes and hugs of congratulations. He grinned and laughed. Everyone laughed at his jokes. In the back of the crowd, Cleon could see his parents. And for once, they were smiling and laughing, too, at their son's success.

The communications screen beeped.

He awoke with a jerk, his beautiful dream ended. The redhead glanced around. Roald was still sleeping in his bed, too far away from the comm. screen. He was covered in a thick blanket. And since Faleron had not arrived home early enough, Cleon had taken his best friend's bed. So, he reached over to the nightstand and answered the call.

"Hello?"

"Cleon, thank God," Faleron said in a scratchy voice that was so unlike his normally confident one. His face was pale and there was a gash on his left cheek. Cleon tried to adjust the view settings of the screen, but it stayed the same. His friend was really that color and there really was a gash on his cheek. The collar of his shirt was wrinkled. And the imposing eyes of the thief were wide and panicked. Cleon sat up straighter, running a hand through his messy hair.

"Fal, man, you look terrible. What happened? Why didn't you come back last night?"

Faleron bit his lip, something he normally didn't do. Now Cleon _knew_ something was horribly wrong. 

"Fal? Fal, what is it?" He paused and turned around. "Roald! Wake up!" The other man did not wake up. Still holding the communications screen, Cleon went over to the other bed and yanked the covers off. 

Pillows. "But… where is he?"

"Cleon! I don't have much time!" Faleron said, his voice breaking into a sob. 

"Aww, man… Oh shit, what happened?"

"I was walking in a neighborhood last night… I heard something, so I went to investigate… and … a family… burglar… oh, God, he even shot the little boy," Faleron was crying unrestrainedly. "The police…th-think it's me, Cleon. They're not even looking at the evidence! They're shipping me straight to the executioner! God…"

Cleon was speechless. He stared into the eyes of his comrade and saw only fear and sorrow. "But, Fal… Fal, buddy, you didn't do anything. You didn't--"

"I did," he hoarsely whispered. He sniffled loudly and wiped his eyes with his sleeve. "I can't talk about it right now. My time's running out. Come down to the police station, would you?"

He nodded grimly. The screen blinked off. The transmission was done. Cleon sat down slowly on Roald's bed, tossing the comm. screen away from him and cradling his head in his hands. He shut his eyes tightly against the light flooding in from the windows and the lamp next to the bed. Numbly, he stood up again. Cleon mechanically dressed himself like an automaton, no flicker of emotion in his expression.

Roald was not there. Where was he? Did he know that something like this was happening to their friend? Cleon was angry that the vice president's son had sneaked out. No doubt he was going after Lalasa like he always did. Love beat friendship hands down. But Cleon didn't have love. He had friendship. That was Faleron.

"Everything's fine," he told himself as he left the hotel room. He exited the place they were staying at and waited at a bus stop for fifteen minutes. During that time, he tried to clear his mind. Being sad sucked. That was a statement of his makeshift philosophy. No matter what you did, bad things happened. It was all a matter of how you chose to handle them most of the time. 

"Smile," he commanded himself. "Laugh. Make jokes. Make everyone feel better. You can't let Ice Cream Pants see you so upset. He needs the clown right now." He rubbed his hands together nervously. Since when did he have so many calluses? The redhead blinked and threw the irrelevant thought from his head as the bus arrived. "Be happy. That's the way, Cleon."

~~

Roald squinted with one eye at the man before him. He'd received a black eye no less than thirty minutes ago. It hurt a large amount, but now was no time to fret over it. His assailant was still present and waiting. But waiting for what?

"You're Roald Jasson, aren't you?" he asked. He was a little bit older than he with a very familiar face was. 

"Yeah," he answered. "That's me. Now, who are you?"

A smile appeared on the stranger's face. "Vinson Genlith. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"You! You're the one who kidnapped Lalasa!" he exclaimed. He clenched his fists. "I'll make you pay for that."

Vinson glared at him as he rolled up his sleeves. "You're such a wannabe, do you know that? Do you think you can actually pass for the stupid knight in shining armor bit and always defend her?" He laughed throatily. "Because you can't. Not if I've had my time with her." He winked. 

"Hey! Don't you talk about her!"

"Oh, looks like I've hit a nerve."

Roald, overcome and clouded by hate, charged forward, preparing himself to attack.

~~

The thief was completely metamorphosed by the time Cleon arrived. Faleron sat quietly in his cell, staring at the floor. Tears no longer hung from his lashes, nor trailed down his cheeks. His head was hung in a shameful, guilty manner. Waves of remorse seemed to drown him in their cold depths.

"Fal?" Cleon whispered. It was very quiet in the police station. He almost regretted talking. "Fal, how are you holding up?"

The normally sophisticated young man leaned back and forced a smile. "I'm fine. What else can a fellow be, huh?"

He nodded. "So, what exactly happened?"

The guard standing nearby shifted, coughing into his hand. Cleon shot a look at him and came closer to the cell's door.

"I struggled with the burglar after he shot the father. Then he had me stunned, and he killed a little boy and the mother," Faleron said, rubbing his temples. He shook his head. "I killed the burglar. Kennan, I killed a man."

Cleon gulped. What was he supposed to say to this? "It was self-defense, man. They're charging you for the deaths of the family _and_ that man. You have to prove you're innocent."

"But I'm not! I killed a man!"

"Stop that! Isn't there any witnesses left alive?"

Faleron pulled his knees up to his chest and sighed. "The little girl. She's an orphan now, I suppose. She's been traumatized. She won't talk to anyone." He closed his eyes. "I wanted to see her and make sure she's okay, but they yelled at me and…"

"It's okay, man. I'll think of something," Cleon said. He scratched his forehead. "So, there's no trial?"

"No trial. The law here is harsher because crimes are hardly committed in this utopian society. They know the real criminal is dead," Faleron said quietly. He shrugged. "I'm just their scapegoat."

Cleon couldn't believe his ears. "And you're going to let them do this to you?"

The guard moved forward. The tall redhead held his hands up, backing away from the cell door. Faleron stood up and grasped the iron bars of his holding cell. He pressed his cheek against the door. Faleron looked so strange, pale and quiet like a ghost. There were no witty remarks made toward him. There were no calls of 'grasshopper' or tips of his hat. His hat was forever gone, cleared away by the police as they investigated the crime scene.

There were five more minutes of silence before the guard cleared his throat. Cleon sighed, folding his arms. "Leave it up to me, Thief-Boy. Everything's going to be cool. You can teach me your poker face when you get out of here."

"You think?"

"Oh yeah. And while you're at it, use the stupid face while you're in here. Don't let them think you want to deserve this. That's just crazy, pal. Crazier than getting chased down 34th street by a couple of cheated thugs."

Faleron chuckled. "I didn't cheat them. They were just really, really bad at poker."

"Sure they were."

"Is this your attempt at cheering me up? Because you're doing a lousy job."

"I know. Hang tight, man. I'll see you later."

Faleron waved weakly as the guard escorted him away. Cleon found out from a woman at the desk about Faleron's sentence. It was indeed execution. The redhead cursed silently, and left. He lingered outside the building for a while, concentrating on the predicament. Scanra was vicious in its laws. He guessed that's why everything appeared so perfect from an outward glance. All the people were kept in line. The city was unbelievably clean and orderly. If something bad happened, they didn't even examine the evidence. They just destroyed all that was connected with disturbing their perfection.

Namely, his best friend.

"This is so screwed up," he muttered. A day from now, they were going to tie Faleron to a chair, blindfold him, and bring in five men behind a barricade to shoot him. The nature of the execution had to fit the crime, they said. It sickened him. 

Then, realization dawned on him. Roald was missing. Lalasa had taken Joren and Keladry to who-knows where. Faleron was obviously about to be executed for unjust reasons. That left Cleon to save the day.

"I think I'm going to be sick," he groaned and clutched his midsection. He leaned over into the bushes and up-ended his whole breakfast, which hadn't been much at all. After the nausea had passed, he cleaned himself up and went back to the hotel room. Maybe if he was lucky, he could find Roald and then he wouldn't be alone in his rescue of the thief.

~~

"Ouch. That's got to hurt."

"It's not as bad as it looks," Roald insisted, gasping for air as he spoke. 

"Oh really?" Cleon gently poked him in the side.

"AH! Don't do that!"

"Bruised rib. I see," the redhead nodded. "A black eye, bruised ribs, bruised _everything_ and a couple of scratches and cuts." He sat down on the bed beside him. He handed a moist cloth to the other young man. "Someone's been having a bit a fun…"

"Fun? Oh, yeah. Lots of fun," Roald sarcastically replied as he tried to shift the pillows under his head without using his bruised and banged fingers. "Lots of good-natured brawling fun. I would have gotten him if he didn't turn tail and ran."

"Sure you would have."

"He was worried about someone seeing him."

"Uh-huh. Right."

"Stop that!" he cried. His expression turned serious. "What about you and Faleron?"

He looked away. "They're going to kill him for the murders of four people, for only one he did in self defense and the rest not done by him at all."

Roald tried to sit up. Halfway, he flinched and went back down onto the bed. "What the… so, what's going on? What happened while I was gone?"

Cleon explained the entire story while he listened attentively. When he finished, there were a few moments of silence. Then, Roald said, "I want to help."

"I don't think you can, Mr. Black and Blue. You're a mess, dude. Lalasa's going to have a fit when she comes back."

"I can't just lie here while they're going to shoot him! It's enough we have to deal with all this corrupt government stuff without another form of government taking out its anger on our friend." He shook his head and stared up at the ceiling. 

"Well, I think I have an idea," Cleon said with a shrug. "It's probably insane, but--"

"You _are_ insane, if I quote Lalasa correctly."

He laughed. "Yeah, but I think we're desperate enough to try it."

~~

Keladry sat next to Lalasa and Joren on the couch. Across from them in an armchair was a dark skinned young man about Lalasa's age. The female Carthakian seemed very pleased to see him again. She was smiling like she did only with Roald, which actually brought a few questions to Keladry's mind.

"Guys, this is my cousin, Kaddar Iliniat. Kad, these are the ex-DJPF officers."

Her cousin flashed a grin. "The ones on the news?"

"Uh-huh," Keladry replied. "Nice to meet you. Lalasa says you get news and the sort from Mithros. Can you tell us what's going on right now?"

He nodded. "They still search for you. Alanna Olau Trebond has left the president's side to personally take on the search as well."

She inwardly cringed. "Anything else?"

"Your families are being constantly stalked by the media to get any information on you. They're not allowed at the DJPF headquarters." He handed her a thin clear plastic sheet with print on it. She read it.

"What about our charges as kidnappers?" Joren asked.

"Still stands. Maybe you should send the guy home."

Lalasa pouted. "But--"

"We can't send him home anyhow. Where the hell would we scrape up the money for air fare, or boat fare?" Joren said. He stood up and paced around. "Can we get some news from Copper City? Is the Mayor still getting away with his money?"

"I can check," Kaddar offered. He got up and left the room. Lalasa continued to pout while sitting dejectedly on the sunken couch. She didn't want Roald to go back. It could be good for him-- good for _them_, really. But he'd be back in the high world of politics, and maybe they would keep him there forever. Handcuff him to a desk while his parents watched over him like guard dogs. Roald told her many times of these fears. He wanted to stay with _her_. He wanted to be with _her_. Politics and family could take a rain check. 

In the meantime, Keladry was observing her partner while not realizing that she was. It came naturally for her gaze to be drawn back to him. His gloves were off. His once pink and raw knuckles were back to normal. There were tiny, almost invisible marks-- the only evidence left of his breakdown. It saddened her. He was never going to let his guard down like that again. It was hopeless for her to even try to get him back to humanity. 

Humanity.

__

He looked in her eyes, the fierceness in the arctic depths of his irises melted. And all the intimidation disappeared from him in those few moments. He was human-- not a frozen hearted shadow of a man. He was human.

She suddenly knew why he kissed her. It was not the temptation of their closeness, their foreheads pressed together with his quivering lips so near her own. It was not love, apparently, because love would have broken his stoic attitude towards her. It was his desire to feel human that made him kiss her. Emotionally collapsing like he had was a series of examples showing that there was still a warm beating heart in that icy shell of a man. And the kiss had sealed it.

When they had kissed, Keladry didn't even pay attention to him. She was too overwhelmed with her own feelings to notice how he was reacting during it.

__

It was an explosion of emotion inside of her. Her heart was pounding between her ears. All the blood rushed to her head. She closed her eyes and basked in the moment. After all the years of a prude and ignoring love, it vented out her unknown desire to want to fall in love. Keladry didn't know what to think at that moment. Her mind was blank as his lips continued to press against hers in a sweet dream.

No, she had not taken enough care to feel his reactions. Her own emotions had clouded her. So, what had he done?

__

As his lips brushed hers, tears fell down his cheeks, falling gently to the ground where they were absorbed and forgotten. He squeezed his eyes shut almost painfully. It was as if he wanted to force everything out of himself and into that one kiss. It was not with true fervor that he continued to stay with her like that, but something deeper. The feeling behind the kiss for him was not love, nor desire. It was desperation. Was he still human enough to feel something in this so simple of worldly acts?

No. Try as he might, he could not feel anything. And with disappointment, covered by silent rage, he pulled away.

"Keladry," he began.

She could have cried. It was really a mistake. 

"What are you staring at, Mindelan?"

She snapped to attention. "Oh, sorry. It was nothing. Nothing at all…"

~~

"You really think you can do this?" Roald asked from his bed. No matter his protests, it was where he was confined until it was time to leave Scanra. Cleon had done an expert job bandaging him up. The only thing left was to save the young thief on his execution day. There were three hours counting down until the first lined up executioner would take aim at Faleron's heart.

The tall redhead tucked one handgun at his side, another under his jacket. He glanced in the mirror. He looked normal enough. With a heavy sigh, he turned toward his incapacitated friend. "This is it. Wish me luck."

"Good luck," Roald replied accordingly. "Bring Ice Cream Pants home, huh?"

"I will."

Cleon wore a pair of sunglasses to hide most of his face. He walked into the police correctional facility where they were supposedly terminating Faleron's life. A woman at the front desk called him over. He took half a second to fake ID and march past. As far as anyone else was concerned, he was a citizen connected to the victims just wanting to see justice. What better way than to see an innocent man shot? He had no right to be there, but neither did Faleron. And with that, he continued on.

In the other room, Faleron was being removed of his handcuffs. The walls around him were made of large gray stone blocks. A large metal chair with tanned leather restraints on it was placed in the middle of the room. Behind it, piles of sandbags were to catch any stray bullets-- not that anyone would really miss. It just put false hope in him.

Facing the chair were five stalls, all set apart by wooden screen dividers, all having sandbags up to the waist. Five policemen with grim-- in Faleron's opinion, sadistic-- faces would march in soon and take their positions to execute him. And he would sit in that very chair with a thin blindfold, waiting for oblivion to come.

He deserved to die. He'd taken the life of a man. Sure, the man was not innocent, but he was a man and in so, deserving of life. Maybe if Faleron hadn't killed him, _two_ men, and not just one would be seated in that metal chair to be shot. Yes. That was what would probably occur. 

Tick. Tock.

Time was running out.

Tick. Tock.

They seated him in the chair, untangling the restraints so they could use them. Faleron would most likely stay still anyway. He wouldn't fight against them. So, it was the end. He'd go with dignity. Maybe a quote of literature would mark his final words. A sardonic smile tugged at his features, but afraid of being reprimanded, he kept it to himself. Finally, they tied him up. They pulled the leather straps so tight that his circulation was deeply disrupted. He could see the white of his skin on the arm rests. And he wasn't tensing his own muscles at all. 

For a long while, they left him like that, without a blindfold, staring blankly at the five stalls. And after an eternity, the door on the far side opened. A man in a suit walked over and tied a strip of black cloth over his eyes. Faleron gulped. His heart was racing. What was death going to be like? Would it just be one shot, and that was it? Nothing else?

Was it truly like they said? Was death merely that, and nothing more? Was there a God? Faleron had never been the religious type but it was awfully comforting of an omniscient, gentle force to be in charge of the universe. Even if parts of it were corrupt.

A door was opening. Faleron's heart beat more wildly. And in a few moments, it would burst, as several bullets would enter it. His breath became ragged. He had to get a grip. What a fearful coward he must look! In the midst of his final moments, he had betrayed his confidence and dignity enough to be insecure about his appearance and behavior. He clenched his teeth and sat taller in the chair. "Keep your head high. Think of your life. My… my life."

Five policemen, dressed in militaristic clothing uncommon for their station, took their posts in the five stalls facing the accused. They were covered from nearly head to toe. The selection of executioners had been secret and they hoped not to recognize each other afterwards. One man on the end took special care to examine his target. He studied every leather strap, every metal bolt and screw in the chair. Then, he looked through the screens to his left. He could see the silhouettes of his fellow executioners. They moved rigidly, praying to themselves that their firearms were the ones with blanks, and not bullets. But he was different from them. 

He was hoping his bullets were not blanks. 

"Here, upon the 42nd day of the Councilor's Calendar," an official announced to the people present behind the bulletproof windows and to those inside the execution room itself. "Faleron King, charged with the murders of Mr. and Mrs. Jon Gower, and their son William Gower, shall be executed by right of arms. Officers, take your mark."

The five policemen loaded their guns simultaneously with a fluid motion of their hands as it went back on the safety and the release. They silently took aim at the blindfolded young man, lowering their gazes to his chest so that they may strike him painlessly in the heart. 

"Ready."

Faleron tensed even more, sweat trickling down his forehead. But everything was already black. He could not see. And he did not wish at all to see. 

"Aim."

The first man shifted unnoticeably. He bit his lip and tightened his finger on the trigger.

"F--"

A shot rang out before the command to fire was issued. The bullet clipped the corner of the metal chair, blowing it backward so that Faleron landed on his back. At the same time, anarchy spread in the room. The lone officer, having taken the shot, leapt back as his fellow men left their stalls. Before they could do anything, he expertly cocked his semi-automatic again, braced it against his shoulder, and fired. 

Four shots. One for each man, nailing him in their hands and shoulders, disabling them from using their own guns. There were hysterical and outraged cries coming from the observing room. The official calling the orders gasped in horror and ran to the door. The rogue officer spun around and effortlessly aimed and fired for him. The man went down, clutching his leg. 

The whole time, Faleron struggled with his bonds. The sudden relief from his rescue had given him a newfound source of energy. He was not going to die! He was going to _live_. 

"Hurry," his rescuer urged as he came up to him and yanked off the blindfold. The young thief peered up into his eyes. He smiled.

"Cleon?"

"Yes, yes, it's me. Come on! Help me undo your straps!"

One of the wounded men was crawling for the door. Cleon shot at him, causing the man to recoil in panic and fear. Clumsily, Faleron was freed. They ran to the door. The redhead motioned to another fallen man. "Take a gun! Hurry!"

"What if it's the blank one?"

"Take _two_," he rolled his eyes. He whispered a curse before flinging open the door to the observing room through which they had to pass. The men and women of the media and those representing the judicial system screamed and fled. Those who stood their ground raised their arms up, a sign of submission and surrender.

The two young men slowly made their way across the room. "Don't anyone move," Cleon warned. He pointed to a woman with glasses and a feminine suit. "Open the door and walk out slowly. We'll be right behind you."

She started to sob, but scrambled frantically to the door to do as she was ordered. The woman shakily opened the door, holding it open for the two men as she exited. He regretfully pressed the barrel of his weapon between her shoulder blades. She squeaked, but continued to move forward.

"I'm really sorry about this," he whispered to her. She sniffled.

"We're almost at the entrance," Faleron pointed out. "What now? There's a mob outside waiting for the announcement that I'm dead!" He nudged his comrade in the shoulder.

Cleon ripped off his headgear and threw it at Faleron. "I guess we'll take our chances…"

~~

__

Lean on me…

When you're not strong…

'Cause I'll be your friend.

I'll help you to carry on.

For, it won't be long…

'Til I'm gonna need

Somebody to lean on.

~~

In the darkness of night, three men traveled down the narrow street of Scanra, barely being able to drag their bags with them. One man's arms were flung about the other two's shoulders as they helped him walk with much difficulty. Exhaustion was spread thickly between them. If they did not reach the city limits soon, they were going to be found and arrested for their crimes.

Crimes? The real ones or the fake ones?

"You paged Kel, right?" 

"Yes, Cleon," Roald managed to say in between wheezes. He limped between the two men, who were not as healthy as they first seemed. Faleron now sported several shallow wounds that were bullet grazes as the two men had burst out of the police station into the crowd. It was a desperate run-for-your-life action that miraculously saved them. Cleon had already taken the initiative of leaving an unregistered car nearby with the key already in the ignition. They got on and sped away just as the police got their ranks together and went after them.

"I'm so glad this is over," the tall redhead groaned. "Let's hope it never happens again."

"I won't let it," Faleron whispered, more to himself than to the other two. 

Roald coughed before speaking. "It's okay, Fal. It's not… your fault. You didn't intentionally do that at the Gower place. It was… was all a mistake."

He nodded. "I know that's the logic to it. And I'm a logical man. I should accept that. But, still…"

"It's cool," Cleon nodded. "Give yourself some time, Thief-Boy."

"You've really got to stop with the nicknames."

"What? You want me to go back to Faleron? Just plain Faleron?"

"It would be nice. Yes."

"But it's so boring! Right, Roald?" Cleon's eyes lit up. "Hey! Did I tell you Roald's new nickname?"

"Oh, no, here it comes," Roald sighed.

"Mr. Black and Blue! Ha! Lalasa will probably smack me in the head every time I say it, but I think it's worth it."

"You are way, way too much Kennan. I narrowly escape unjust execution and you're cracking jokes?"

"Somebody needs to keep the humor alive in this group." Cleon grinned

"I think I see why my girlfriend calls us the three stooges," Roald muttered.

"I'm not just a stooge!"

Faleron snickered. "That's right. Cleon, my hero."

"Yes! I'm a hero! All hail the almighty--"

"Grasshopper!"

Roald and Faleron burst into laughter. 

"Hey now…Bruise-boy, Ice Cream Pants…"

"You're such a dork, Kennan."

"And you're not?"

"No, we're stooges like Lalasa said."

"Can I be Curly?"

~~

__

Lean on me…

When you're not strong…

'Cause I'll be your friend.

I'll help you to carry on.

For, it won't be long…

'Til I'm gonna need

Somebody to lean on.

~~

Author: Yes, yes. I know what you're thinking. What about Joren and Keladry?? Well, people, I can't focus on them all the time… It kind of turns this story from action/drama/humor/romance to plain romance. And you know me. I'm really uptight about balancing focus. I hope Faleron fans aren't extremely pissed at me. But what I've done here is leave open a lot of character development for everyone's favorite thief and everyone's favorite clown for future chapters. Oh, and our dear prince, too. (Roald fans, please ignore his bruises. He'll get better in _no_ time…) Review, please, and tell me what chapter you're reviewing! The chaptering system makes it so difficult to tell!

Closing Credits:

Special thanks to those who helped me with descriptions:

( Note: These people are VERY cool. Do not mess with them.)

Kestrel

Erin (Hyper Girl to the Rescue)

Sullychkk (Whose name is Caitie…)

And also to the people who volunteered to help with my web page:

FireLily

Jaelawyn Noble

   [1]: mailto:silverwLng@aol.com



	16. The Lioness Returns

It Could Be Worse

Episode 16: The Lioness Returns

By Sulia Serafine

[2-8-01. A Protector of the Small fanfic set in an alternate universe; all credit goes to Tamora Pierce. And for the last time! **I don't own the Three Stooges**! So don't mention how I'm using them! As I've said before, I'm broke, so you can't sue me.

Oh, one more thing: BAD LANGUAGE (I. E. cursing, swearing…). You have been warned!

E-mail me at [silverwLng@aol.com][1], okay? 

P.S. I'm once again sorry that I'm late. You can tell that by the date I started this episode that it should have been finished days ago, but I've been very busy and injured. Yes, Jae, this is about my calf (covered in gauze and tape)… the bruise on my head… and… okay, you can stop laughing now. I'm accident-prone! I admit it! Now hush before I get Lego-san to come after you. *blinks* Aww! Now you have _me_ calling him Lego-san! It's Legato-san! *sighs* And for those of you who actually asked, my women's novice 8 boat didn't place, but my women's freshman 4 placed second. We were going to overtake the first place boat until my friend's oar dipped too far down into the water. It was twisted in the oarlock so the oar was parallel to the boat and we couldn't pull it back to its normal position in the oarlock because of the speed of the boat (it's actually called "catching a crab"). S'okay though. I had fun. Oh, and a lot of you have been asking me about Saphron and her story Rainy Day Trip (MY version of SQUIRE). I am not mad at all because I have been mentioned as the resident K/J author. I'm happy. And as for due credits, blah, blah, I'm honored to have influence on anybody (my editor told me that I could take it as a compliment that I influenced someone enough to have them write something of my style without their realizing it. Very weird, but uplifting in a sordid way). Saphron is a wonderful author and a personal friend. As are Jae, and a lot of other TP authors here whom I infinitely respect for their talent and imagination. Enjoy the long-awaited episode.

Lalasa finished wrapping the bandages around Roald's bruised ribs. He winced uncomfortably as he became aware of all his wounds. When they had met up again outside of Scanra, she had not been as hysterical at him as he thought she'd be. She didn't demand what happened. She didn't start lecturing him on what could have happened. The Carthakian had not started bawling and drowning him in tears either. Instead, she had carefully hugged him and led him back to the luggage for the first aid. Lalasa leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "Go, get some rest. Let me take care of these other stooges."

He nodded and got up. Then he walked over to the second picnic table at the rest stop they were at and laid down. Faleron and Cleon sat down in his place, both nursing less than serious injuries. 

"How did you get the gash in your cheek?" she asked the thief while putting some antiseptic on a cotton ball and dabbing gently at his face. Faleron flinched.

"The chaps who arrested me."

"Oh, goodness," she muttered. She handed him a small bandage and turned to Cleon. "And you… what happened to you?"

The redhead smiled sheepishly. "The mob in front of the police station was brutal, 'Lasa."

"We leave you alone for only about three days and look what happens," she muttered with a frustrated expression. Lalasa proceeded to bandage them up. She made a shooing motion with her hands. "You can go now. You're fine. Well, until Stone talks to you."

The two men exchanged nervous glances. Then they looked to Joren, who was still seated on his bike, checking his database. He had yet to say anything to them about Scanra. Keladry stood nearby, arms folded, staring at the ground. She was too deep in her thoughts to pay attention to their predicament.

"King," Joren suddenly called. Faleron's head snapped up.

"Yes?"

"Get over here. Kennan, stay where you are."

The redhead let out a sigh of relief. Faleron gulped. He calmly approached Joren while rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably. The blonde turned away from his database and studied the fidgeting thief. Who knew what kind of punishment would be given out to him? Faleron's hands were clammy and his throat dry. If Joren didn't say anything soon, Faleron was going to scream. This continued for five minutes. After the maddening silence, Joren spoke. "You killed a man."

The shorter man's eyes squeezed shut. "I didn't mean to. It was… it was…"

"Instinct," Joren finished for him as a statement, not suggestion. The other nodded in profound amazement to the first's understanding. He went on. "You just reacted to the scene around you and next thing you know, that happened."

Faleron nodded numbly. "Yes."

Joren stroked his chin. "Okay. That's all I needed to know. You can leave now."

At first, he blinked. That was all? Faleron was sure he would get lectured or at least cursed at. And then, Faleron thought that Joren would delve further into his explanations of understanding how it felt. How in the world did Joren know what happened back in Scanra? That it was… instinct? Faleron turned to leave, but a question emerged in Faleron's mind. He faced the biker again and coughed gently into his fist. "Uh, Stone?"

"What now?"

Faleron uneasily toed the ground with his foot. "Have you ever…"

"Have I ever…?" he repeated in a bored manner.

"Killed a fellow?" Faleron regretted his words as soon as they were out of his mouth. He coughed again. His throat was too dry. "I mean, because of your job? I know whatever your occupation was in Tusaine was dangerous and--"

"Yes." Joren returned to his database and dismissed him without another thought. "You're free to go."

"Oh. All right." He blinked. _Free to go_. --Just as if he were a prisoner all over again with his own companions as his jailers. He turned on his heel and walked back to his friends. Keladry watched the scene with interest. She focused more on Joren. So, he had killed a person. Keladry didn't doubt it. In his line of work up in Tusaine where all the drug lords lived, it was expected. Still, she found it hard to believe that some day in the future, she might be forced to end a life, as well.

Joren turned around on his seat. "Hey, Mindelan. Get over here."

Slightly confused, she approached him. "Yeah?"

For a moment, he just gazed at her. She felt her knees weaken under his tense scrutiny. Finally, he looked back at his database and pointed. "I accessed more news from Tortall using Kaddar Iliniat's hacking routes. They're starting to let up on the manhunt for us." He pressed another button on the screen. "Now that everything's starting to clear up, we can sneak back into the country and settle this bullshit once and for all. You understand?"

"Yes."

"Good."

She paused. "Why did you just tell me this? Why not tell everyone at the same time?"

"I had to talk to you anyway," he replied. 

"What for?" she asked timidly, wondering if it were what she thought it was. Was it his "_mistake_" or something else?

Joren nodded in Faleron's direction. "Thief-boy may be familiar with the world of criminals, but now that he's stepped up to the next level, he might have a nervous breakdown."

"He already cried and did all of that in jail," she said. Keladry didn't like what he was getting at. 

"Initial response," he said darkly, his hand gripping the handles of his bike tightly. A shadow crossed his face, a phantom of morbid thoughts and past experiences. "He's just now started to think of the scheme of things in depth-- the meaning of life and all that crap. Keep your eye on him."

She frowned. "Why don't you ask Cleon or Roald? They're closer to him."

"They're in denial of what's psychologically happening to him. Not that I would give a damn, usually, but I don't want King blowing up at the wrong time. Do you understand?"

She glared at him with intense loathing. How could he think so badly of Faleron? The troubled young man could take care of himself. He wouldn't break down and go crazy over his terrible act. She was absolutely repulsed by the idea. Keladry raised her head a little higher and stiffened her movements. "Yeah. I understand just fine."

He narrowed his eyes. "Don't give me that attitude, Mindelan."

"I'll give you what ever attitude I want," she muttered and walked away to stand by Faleron. The thief expressed his concern.

"Is something wrong, Kel?"

She shook her head. "No. It's nothing. Where's Lalasa?"

The short, dark haired girl was no where in sight. Roald continued to sleep on top of the picnic table and Joren was completely absorbed in the information given to him by his database. She turned to the two other men. "Where did she go?"

Cleon shrugged. "How are we supposed to know? She probably went to the bathroom, Kel. Don't be so paranoid."

"It's hard not to be when you're in our position," she replied, slightly peeved at his casual reaction. "Go find her, would you?"

He nodded and headed towards the rest rooms and vending machines. She was left to talk with Faleron. Joren's words came back to haunt her. She gazed unsteadily at her friend. "How are you feeling?"

"Okay," he answered. He chuckled. "A little tired. I'd sleep, but Roald's taking up a lot of room on that table." There were bags under his dark, usually warm eyes. Now his eyes shown exhaustion in the face of persecution, no longer having the strength nor the endurance to fight back. She wanted to help him. But Keladry knew he would refuse her and stand on his own, playing out the fictional part of the liberated prisoner ready to make his own destiny. 

"Where's the sugar-addicted, charismatic young man that I know?" she thought to herself.

"I miss my hat," he said suddenly, feeling his head.

She paused. "We could get you another one just like it."

"No. That's all right. I just find it hard to get used to all the breeziness up here." He forced himself to laugh again.

A few minutes later, Cleon returned with Lalasa in tow. Both were very quiet and distressed, a capricious change. Lalasa folded her hands neatly in front of her and gazed down at the ground. Her eyes were wide but glistening in the moonlight from unshed tears. Keladry grasped her only female companion by the shoulders. "What's wrong now? Lalasa?"

Lalasa cleared her throat with much reluctance to begin her tale. "My father contacted me. He's going to take us back to Tortall."

"For what?" Joren demanded as he joined them. He'd only heard the word Tortall, but it was enough to spark his interest.

"To attack," she answered in a hoarse voice. She removed Keladry's hands from her shoulders. "We're to meet Roger Conté back in Tyra and sail with him to meet my father in Carthak. And then, we head to Tortall for the 'final battle', or however Father chooses to call it." She looked up at her with wide, guilty eyes. "I'm so sorry. I know it's my fault that he's dragging you into this. If I had just stayed away from you, he'd never ask for your participation in this…"

Keladry attempted to calm her down. "It's okay. We're in this together." The words sounded like a lie to her very ears. Before the other girl could notice her subliminal thoughts, she pointed to Roald. "Why don't you, uh, go stay with Roald and make sure he's feeling up to the trip."

The older girl nodded. "Yeah. Okay."

Cleon scratched his head. "So, we have to go back and sail with that creepy Roger guy? Aww, man, that sucks."

"His crew was good for money," Faleron commented with a smirk. "I don't have any problems with it."

"And we don't want to disappoint Ozorne Tasikhe. The guy can help us figure out the real deal on President Conté and all this business with the immortals," Joren added. He nodded to Lalasa. "So let's go meet him."

~~

As they boarded the Roger's boat, Faleron drifted back and forth from his thoughts and reality. He couldn't forget it, no matter how hard he tried. Every time he shut his eyes, he could see every single thing happen in slow motion. If he had been born with gift of quick observation and calculation to analyze his reactions to the world around him, how could he let that happen?

In that split second, he could have sprinted away with the children, then returned with maybe a baseball bat to clobber the burglar. In that moment out in the hall, he could have burst in, screamed for the two adults to run, and taken a bullet for the family. So, why did he hesitate? Why did he allow that to happen?

"Fal," Cleon called. "Come on. Let's get your stuff below, dude."

He was a coward.

"I'm coming. Give me a second."

It was that simple. He was a coward.

"We don't have all day, Thief-boy. Get over here."

Faleron nodded and hurried his pace to jog. He thought to himself, "Don't shut your eyes…"

Roger greeted them again with a broad smile. He continued to spook the latter of the small group with his mysterious ways and frightening expressions. Often at night, he called Lalasa to the helm to speak with her about Ozorne. And every time, she would return to her bunk pale as a sheet. Keladry peered at her one night, and threw back her covers to sit up.

"What happened?"

Lalasa shakily gripped the tiny ladder she would use to climb into the bunk above Keladry's. She bit her lip. "Roger Conté is coming with us into Tortall. He's helping my dad."

"What?"

She nodded and started climbing up, not even bothering to throw her shoes down. "He's going to be there at the rebellion. The president's estate is going to be invaded."

Both young women remained quiet for a long while. Lalasa curled up atop her bed covers, hugging a pillow tightly to her chest. Keladry stared at the polished wood of the bunk while letting her friend's words sink in. Several times she thought to say something, but it just didn't seem right. Roger was coming with them to Tortall. He was working with them. Keladry didn't want to see any more of the terrifying man, but he was tagging along anyway. It was Ozorne's wish that he come.

"There's nothing I can do about it," she reasoned. Then, she let the silence stand and forced herself to slumber.

~~

Cleon hunched his shoulders. "I hate Carthak."

Faleron smirked. "It's extraordinary how not too long ago, you desperately wanted to see it."

He shrugged. "But that was before I saw it. Now I have and I don't like it one bit." Cleon sighed dramatically. "You have high crime rates, poor living conditions, the most _aggravating_ natives--"

"Ahem?" Lalasa gave him the evil eye.

"Sorry. Didn't mean _you_. The rest of the population."

"Sure you did…"

Roger laughed, making each one of them turn and become rigid. He crossed his arms and eyed them ruefully. "Youth these days…"

They immediately shut up after that. The looming presence of the outsider was a burden on them all. So, in quiet submission, they trekked down the street-- Joren gone ahead on his motorcycle-- towards Thom Trebond's home. They could not approach Lalasa's apartment because the local DJPF had it under surveillance and the same with the Crypt now. Yet, they still did not feel safe, not as long as Roger Conté was around. 

"At this point, I'd rather run into some DJPF officers," Cleon muttered as he glanced back at the intimidating man behind him.

"Did you say something?" Roger asked, narrowing his eyes.

"N-no."

"Watch yourself, boy."

Cleon clenched his fist. He fought to keep his gaze fixed ahead. After half an hour of Lalasa leading them through the maze of streets and alleys, they finally reached Thom's where Joren was waiting in the street. A woman with a pink robe and curlers in her hair was hurling random objects down at a man, presumably her husband, while shouting and yelling. The man bellowed right back. He dodged most of her projectiles. Seeing their route blocked, they went up the fire escape one by one. From there, they opened the door that led to an indoor flight of stairs going down into the basement of the building. 

They knocked on the door. It was five minutes before there was any response. They could hear a dog barking from the other side. It was Jump. 

"Jump, get Uncle Thom!" Lalasa ordered.

"Do you think he can understand you?" Joren snorted. 

Faleron opened his mouth to say something. He could offer to pick the lock, but it didn't feel right. He was having trouble doing anything of his usual nature after getting his liberty from execution. The tension was lifted when Joren started to pick the lock with a tool from his belt, surprising everyone but Keladry, who remembered what he'd done when they first met.

It took all of fifteen seconds to open the door and swing it wide open. Joren muttered something about automatic sliding doors and Carthak's technology deprivation. He gestured for everyone to follow as they entered the room. Jump wagged his crooked tail and barked as he jumped repeatedly in front of Cleon. The redhead grinned and crouched down to scratch him behind his ears and receive licks from the energetic dog.

The basement of the building was empty. Roald and Faleron casually sat down on the sagging brown and gray sofa. This time around, Keladry took it upon herself to straighten up the ever-jumbled items on the coffee table. Lalasa hesitantly went into the kitchen. "Uncle Thom? Uncle Thom, it's us!"

Things became quiet, save for Cleon playing with Jump. Joren narrowed his eyes. He slowly reached under his jacket for one of his guns. Roald saw him and became bothered. He cautiously stood up and joined the blonde where he stood.

Keladry set down the stack of blueprints on the coffee table and frowned. She drew her energy glaive from her belt. With the flick of her wrist, it shot out, extending itself to staff length. She refrained from activating the flare at the end because of the small space around her. She took her defensive position between the sofa and the other men. 

Cleon took the squirming dog into his arms and handed him off to Roald while he and Faleron took twin stances, standing three-quarters open with their left and right shoulders touching. Cleon also gave one of his guns to the thief and released the safety on his own gun.

Joren nodded his head toward the kitchen. Roald walked forward-- armed with nothing but the wriggling pooch in his arms. He pushed through the swinging door, holding it open by nudging the small wire newspaper rack against it with his foot. Jump whined. Then Roald started to scratch the dog behind the ears as he held him. He walked painstakingly across the tile floor. He turned the corner of the kitchen, around the refrigerator. "Lalasa?"

Silence. He stared at the tiny table covered with unwashed bowls. Roald sighed in relief and smiled.

"Get him!" a woman's voice shouted forcefully. DJPF officers in the Carthakian uniforms burst in from the alternate door and from the pantry. He gasped as more came through the one window and surrounded him. He tried to move, but fear glued his shoes to the floor. Finally, a hoarse cry escaped his throat as men grabbed his arms and tried to restrain him. 

Jump was unceremoniously thrown to the floor. At once, he bit the pants leg belonging to one of Roald's captors. He was kicked away by the officer. The small white-gray dog barked loudly and attacked again.

"Help!" he yelled.

Joren, Cleon, and Keladry were the first to run in. Keladry swung her collapsible staff every which way, knocking men upside the head and stabbing forward and striking their chests so that they fell to the ground collapsing for breath. Unfortunately for her, she wasn't wearing any Hyperion bands, and neither were Joren and Cleon. The two men, now joined by Faleron, fired at the men holding Roald, aiming not to kill. 

Faleron stepped back, shooting less than the other two men did. He was still unsure of his aim, and unsure of the situation. Quickly, his mind set upon the many options he could take at that split second. He could try to fire his gun, but what if he ended up killing another innocent person? And what if he ran? It would be cowardice all over again. Finally, Faleron's eyes rested upon a toaster. He yanked it from its plug to the wall and threw it with great precision at the chief officer pinning Roald to the counter. 

"Oof!" the man grunted as he fell away from Roald, who scrambled up onto the counter and tried to jump to his allies' side. Two pairs of hands suddenly shot out from the window and grabbed him, yanking him up over the sink and threw the narrow opening. Jump continued barking. He ran forward and bit Roald's pants just as the youth was being pulled up. Then he, too, was gone through the narrow window, tail and all.

"Hey! Let go! Guys, help!" Roald cried from the fire escape.

For the first time, they heard a feminine shriek. It came from Lalasa, who was struggling to make it through the alternate door from which she appeared. Other officers stopped attacking to restrain her. The rest were already dropped to the floor, trying to crawl away. Joren launched himself forward, throwing punches. Cleon used his excellent marksmanship to take down a few more officers. A woman with fiery red hair wearing a bright red and yellow Tortallian uniform stood ready at the back of the kitchen after kicking aside the table and the chairs. She beckoned for Joren to approach.

He accepted her challenge, staring her straight in the eye as he drew his gun arm back and wondered to himself whether it was a draw or a brawl. Keladry kicked a man in the solar plexus, then leapt back when she saw the woman. Her eyes widened in shock and disbelief. Her mouth dropped open.

"Alanna Olau Trebond," she whispered.

"You're under arrest, Stone. Put your weapons down. The same with you, Kennan."

Cleon stared at the newcomer, slightly annoyed and slightly surprised. He glanced contemptuously at the remaining officers standing and set his guns down slowly on the floor. Joren reluctantly did the same.

"All your weapons," Alanna commanded with a stern voice. Joren glared at her openly before reaching in his jacket, producing his second Desert Eagle, and placing it on the tile. Keladry stood apart, her eyes wide. Lalasa struggled in the background, biting the hand clamped over her mouth. The man yelped and drew his hand back. Lalasa stomped on his foot and gained freedom from his crushing embrace.

"Don't listen to her, Kel! Fight!"

Alanna suddenly stared at Keladry. Her features softened, allowing the former female officer to see a form of sincerity in her eyes. She spoke. "You're this Keladry Mindelan I keep hearing about. Lord Wyldon has told me many great things about you. You're not like Stone or these others." She paused. "Help me, Mindelan. Restrain your companions, because they're no comrades of yours to drag you into this."

Cleon was about to retort wittily but Lalasa ran over and used him as a shield. He instinctively stood taller and held his arms out to help protect his friend. Faleron stood in the far back, eyes downcast. His hands trembled, still holding the Cleon's gun.

Meanwhile, Keladry didn't know what to say. Her former idol was starting to move back into the spotlight now. She knew her. She was told about her. She was offering total pardon in exchange for helping reel in the wanted criminals--

"Criminals," she whispered. An image of the president and then Ozorne Tasikhe flashed in her mind. She shook her head. "No… No, you aren't a criminal."

"Of course, I'm not," the president's advisor said with an air of perplexity. "And you don't have to be either. You have so much potential."

"Oh, just shut _up_," Joren spat angrily and moved his foot back so he took a defensive position. He raised his clenched fists to chest level and eyed the DJPF living legend with extreme dislike. He noticed Keladry had still not put her makeshift staff down. He turned his attention back to Alanna. "How the hell did you find this place anyway?"

She smirked. "What? I can't find my own brother? I could have found Thom a long time ago, but I respected his wishes and left him alone. That's what twins do. Now, Keladry, listen to me--"

Keladry didn't know what to do. She was so torn between choices. On the outside, she composed herself, and made herself to look stronger. Against her role model, it did very little in her favor. "I fight with them, Miss Trebond."

Alanna pouted slightly, in a disappointed way. She had been expecting her to take her side. Not many people disagreed with her in situations like these, when she had a whole life's history backing up her reputation. "Very well," she said tightly. "I forgive you for all that you're forcing me to do. But don't say I didn't warn you."

She raised her gun and aimed at Keladry, whose inner turmoil kept her from reacting. Joren cursed and whirled around. He dove towards Keladry, tackling her to the floor just as the first few shots were squeezed off by Alanna. Cleon scrambled for his own gun, but Alanna fired another round in his direction, too. The male redhead fell on his bottom. He immediately rolled behind the unconscious form of another officer slumped against the wall. 

"Fal! Shoot, damn it! Shoot!" he shouted.

Faleron's head jerked up. He stared at the powerful woman before him. She didn't know his name. She didn't even notice him so far back in the kitchen that he was practically out in the basement room. In the meantime, the bullets flew overhead of Joren as he positioned himself over his stunned partner. He felt one of them bite into his shoulder, making him grimace.

"Joren!" she gasped. He ignored her and moved off of her. He dragged her behind the overturn table after grabbing his guns just as a shot rang out and struck Alanna in the thigh. Faleron stood with his face pale and childishly wide eyes. Smoke wafted up from the barrel of his gun.

"Run!" Joren shouted. He took Keladry's hand once more and ran with Keladry toward the other end of the kitchen and out the door. 

Cleon shoved Faleron into place in front of him and then Lalasa. He banged his knee against the refrigerator as they ran past, and then again almost tripped on the newspaper rack holding the door open. Alanna yelled to the rest of her men to go after them, but as she looked around her, they were all knocked out upon the floor. 

"Where the hell is Roger?" Cleon yelled as they made it out the front door and tumbled down the fire escape. They practically smacked into the sidewalk at the rate they fled down the ladder. Faleron braced himself as he hit the ground, the result of an accidental push from Lalasa. She fell on top of him, then Cleon against her.

"Get up!" Thom cried frantically from where he stood. Joren spun around.

"How did you escape?" 

Thom gestured behind him to the man leaning against the broken and misshapen DJPF squad cars. Five other men in the Tortallian uniform lay on the ground, out cold. "My pal Roger helped me of course! They were holding me in the alleyway."

"I didn't even see him leave us," Lalasa whispered. She glanced back overhead at Thom's door. "We should go find my father. And then we have to go back for Roald." Her voice softened. "I'm not abandoning him."

"We have to," Joren and Roger replied simultaneously. They glared at each other directly after. 

Keladry shook her head. "Stop delaying! Let's get out of here!"

"This way!" Thom said as he jerked a thumb across the street. "I know the way to Ozorne's hideout! We have to get there as quick as possible!"

The group ran forward. Cleon pulled Faleron to his feet, the thief still as silent as before. He yelled for Lalasa to help him move Faleron along. She obliged reluctantly, still shouting for Roald to be rescued. As she had been kidnapped and he had gone after her, so she would do the same thing.

Joren veered off course from the rest of his group. He had to get his bike. In Roger and Thom's fight with the officers, part of a metal dumpster had been pushed over his bike. He know gritted his teeth as he tried to lift it. Keladry, at the tail of the running group, looked over her shoulder. She took a split second to decide what to do and then turned on her heel and ran back. She joined Joren. Neither spoke, but both strained to lift the dumpster and push it away.

Alanna was now outside, her guns reloaded as she deftly slid down the ladder and landed gracefully on the ground. She called out to them, but she was too late. They freed his bike, now slightly scratched, and both hopped on. They made their escape. The president's advisor wouldn't have it. She didn't become a living legend by sitting around all day. She sprinted to one of the squad cars with a broken windshield. The key was left in the ignition by one of the officers out on the ground. She turned it and the car sprung to life. 

She drove after them, pressing the car to its limits in speed. The motorcycle and car were on a chase through the Carthakian slums. Beaten up cars swerved to avoid the dangerous duo as they tore up the asphalt with their antics. Alanna gripped the steering wheel with one hand while leaning out the window with the other and firing her gun.

Keladry yelped as she felt a bullet lodge in the metal fixture below her. Joren, who in their haste actually got his helmet on, cursed vehemently and reached back with his right hand to grab Keladry's. He guided her hand over his thigh and to the compartment where he kept his spare guns. 

In the fast pace of their getaway, she had no time to realize the proximity of their closeness or the intimacy of their body contact. He lifted his thigh barely enough to let her access to the compartment. Joren tried to speed up in the treacherous booby-trapped streets, but he had to dodge so much. Keladry finally closed her fingers around the hilt of a silver handgun that she didn't even bother identifying. Now, how was she was supposed to shoot?

As if sensing her thoughts, Joren took his foot off the footrest and hooked her calf with it. He did the same with the other foot and then nudged her with his elbow. Now that she was anchored down, she could twist around and aim with both hands. She turned at the waist, the back ridge of the seat digging into her hip as she did. 

Alanna squeezed off two more shots before following them on a sharp turn. Feeling like she was being thrown off the bike, Keladry fired three shots, then abruptly turned back and grabbed Joren by the shoulder to keep from losing her balance.

"We've got to lose her!" she screamed above the loud engine, her hair whipping around her face.

He nodded and motioned again to the compartment. This time, she had to reach farther to feel anything in the tiny enclosure. Then, she felt a round metal sphere in her palm. She withdrew her hand and looked at it. 

"Just throw it!" he yelled. With one hand around his waist, she twisted around and flung it at the windshield of Alanna's squad car. The older woman cursed as smoke was emitted from the orb and filled the car. She was forced to stop and get out. She coughed forcefully, trying to get air. She watched the Black Knight and its passengers make their getaway as she continued to cough.

Keladry grinned when she saw her aim proved true. She turned back around and put her other arm around Joren's waist. Now all they had to do was figure out where they had ended up in their chase and then find Ozorne. 

"You could be a little less sloppy with your throw," Joren commented as they came to a stop at a convenience store to get their directional bearings. She rolled her eyes and handed him his gun. He returned it to his compartment beside his thigh. They both fidgeted on the seat. It was uncomfortable riding like that, unlike that time in Galla--

Keladry blushed. She blanked her mind of that memory and concentrated on the present. 

"What does the database say?"

"We're on the North side," he replied. "Page Cleon and get instructions."

She did as she was told. Second after, she received a reply. Joren nodded, and put his helmet back on. They pulled away from the curb and rode away at a more gentle speed for their sore bodies. Keladry yawned into her sleeve. All the action had tired her. Forgetting where she was, she encircled her arms around Joren's waist more comfortably and leaned her head against his back, between the shoulder blades. Her hair, a little longer than when this whole business started, flopped onto his shoulder in accordance with the wind.

Joren tensed as he felt her move against him. He was about to scold her like he always did, but paused and thought better of it. 

~~

Elsewhere, Roald was blindfolded and thrown into a sack in the back seat of a car. Jump was wrenched away from him, the dog yipping and barking loudly. It was half an hour before the car stopped and someone was untying the burlap bag. He thrashed about, angry at the way he was being treated. "Hey! Who _is_ this? Answer me!"

"Calm down, Roald. Honestly," a familiar voice said. The vice president's son blinked as he heard a dog bark as well.

"Numair?" he asked as he forced his head out of the bag. The tall older man smiled as he held a squirming Jump while scratching the dog behind the ears and down the back.

"Nice to see you, young friend," Daine said, gathering his attention.

"Daine? You two… what's going on? Why did you take me back there? Don't tell me you're helping them, too!"

Daine grasped both his shoulders and forced him to look her in the eye. "You know us better than that. We're the ones who sent those three officers out on the limb for what we're trying to correct in this world. We know what you're trying to do."

"Then why did you separate me from them?"

Numair leaned on the car door and tapped the window as he talked. "We couldn't risk the vice president's son getting injured. Do you know how much your mother's pinching hurts?" He reached up and felt his ear, remembering unpleasant times. "Ouch."

Roald laughed. Daine folded her arms. "I swear, she coddles you too much."

"Back to the topic at hand," Roald said. "What happens now?"

"We take you back to Tortall," Numair replied and began to move around the car to the driver's seat. Roald wormed his way out of the rest of the bag and flung it away from him onto the street. Daine frowned, picked it up, and threw it at an overturned trash bin. They got into the car as well and shut the doors. Numair turned and let Jump leap into Roald's lap, where the dog immediately began lavishing the boy with fervent licks as his greeting.

"What about my friends?" he asked as they drove away.

"Oh, I wouldn't be surprised if we saw them sooner than you think. And Alanna wouldn't have it any other way."

"What?" Roald frowned.

"Your friends escaped. And it's been so long since dear Alanna's had a challenge," Daine chuckled as she turned around and looked at Roald in the back seat, "that she won't let them get away without another fight. She plays to win, and to push her limits."

"That's our Lioness," Numair nodded.

~~

Ozorne cupped his daughter's face hard, examining a cut under her eye. She flinched uncomfortably under his touch. "Dad…"

"Shut up. Let Genlith get some ointment. No one scratches my girl and gets away with it!"

She rolled her eyes. Vinson snickered as he left the room to get some ointment as he was commanded. As he passed his own father, Roger cuffed him in the back of his head for showing such insolence. The young man cringed and scurried away like a rat. The whole group sat around in a dingy basement with a single shop light illuminating the whole place. There were various guns scattered haphazardly on the metal table, and bullets as well. 

Joren sat backwards in a chair, leaning on the back with his chest as he examined the guns and began choosing some for his own. Keladry sat exhausted in the corner, drifting to sleep as Cleon was doing on the beat up armchair in the other corner. Faleron sat motionlessly on the left arm of that armchair, staring at the wall. Presently, he did snap out of his self-induced trance and paid attention to what was going on around him.

He'd shot Alanna Olau Trebond back there. Maybe, with intentions to kill her, maybe not… He didn't know what was wrong with him. He tried so hard to be the calm and collected sugar-addicted thief that everyone knew so well, but it was just so hard. There was all the stress and tension still present from his life-altering experience in Scanra.

Cleon rubbed his blurry eyes and clapped his friend on the shoulder. "Hey. You okay?"

"Yeah. Thanks for asking."

"Uh-huh," Cleon nodded, yawned, and snuggled down into the warmth of the armchair. 

Faleron took a deep breath. "Get a grip," he told himself. "Put on a happy face, just for them." He gazed down at his best friend and thought briefly of Merric. "Just for them..."

They spent the whole night, planning and plotting their way. Food and drink were passed around. Cleon woke up eventually, more energetic than before. He began cracking jokes at Vinson's expense while being scolded by Roger and Lalasa. Lalasa in turn avoided Vinson's sugarcoated stares and thought constantly of Roald. Joren ignored them all as he conversed with the loathed Ozorne Tasikhe about weapons and resources. Faleron sat in the armchair where Cleon had been. He drank some brandy from Vinson without stopping to think about how it would affect him later. He had to relax. 

It was strange how enemies worked so efficiently together. Perhaps it was because people don't trust their enemies, even when allied with them for a short time. Thus, they are able to keep all senses alert to complete the task-- unlike those friends who work together, and one stabs the other in the back because of their trust.

Near dawn, Cleon awoke Keladry.

"Hey, Sleeping Tough Stuff, wake up."

"Don't you mean Sleeping Beauty?" Faleron smirked.

He nodded. "Oh, sure, Kel's pretty. But she'd kill me if I said that. She's Miss Tough Stuff, for you information Mr. Ice Cream Pants." Cleon was rewarded with his friend's grin-- so rarely seen since Scanra, and a groggy Keladry.

"What time is it?" she asked.

"It's six-something. Come on. We're going home."

"Home?" she echoed.

"Bright and shiny Tortall!" Cleon said with a grand wave of his arms. His voice then transformed into that of a travel agent's. "Tortall! Where all your dreams come true! Tortall, the home of the president and his lady! Tortall! The place where you _were raised and became the legendary MISS TOUGH STUFF!_ Tortall, the land of the free, and the home," he sang grandly, "Of the… BRAVE!"

"_Shut up, Cleon!_" everyone yelled.

~~

Author: And there it is… They're going home to face the main conflict. *thinks* It seems to me in both ALLO and ICBW, the real fun started when they went home. Hmm… weird coincidence… Oh, well! I hope you enjoyed the episode! I've got a really, really good surprise for everyone next season, but I'm getting ahead of myself. There's still this season to finish. Review, PLEASE! All reviews are appreciated and praised!

p.s. By request, I drew the towel scene from episode 12 (yes, Jae, this is the one… *smiles*) and you can use this link to get to it. If it doesn't work, wait one day, go back, and it should work.

http://www.geocities.com/silvrblade.geo/silverdragon/fanfics/towelscene.html

Closing Credits:

Special thanks to those who helped me with descriptions:

( Note: These people are VERY cool. Do not mess with them.)

Kestrel

Erin (Hyper Girl to the Rescue)

Sullychkk (Whose name is Caitie…)

And also to the people who volunteered to help with my web page:

FireLily

Jaelawyn Noble

   [1]: mailto:silverwLng@aol.com



	17. Home, Sweet Home

It Could Be Worse

Episode 17: Home, Sweet Home

By Sulia Serafine

[2-17-01. A Protector of the Small fanfic set in an alternate universe; all credit goes to Tamora Pierce. I'm broke, so you can't sue me.

Oh, one more thing: BAD LANGUAGE (I. E. cursing, swearing…). You have been warned!

E-mail me at [silverwLng@aol.com][1], okay?

P.S. Saturday, February 24th, I had yet another race. (No, I didn't win. Four of my teammates won gold, but altogether, we couldn't get enough points to win the Mayor's Cup.) So please, accept that as an excuse… oh, and definitely the horrible English paper I had to do (which is worth something like 200 points! That's enough in _my_ class to determine whether I get an A or an F! ARGH! I also have a race on March 3rd. Uh, I will have posted this on the 2nd, the day before the race. Oh, go me! And welcome back, _Umm…_, haven't seen you review in a while! Is Dilly-sama taking up your time? *grin* Special thanks to Destiny and Jaelawyn-- Destiny for the conversation and Jae for… for Jae. Miss Noble here is the main person who keeps me on my toes. And yes, Legato is still a huge teddy bear, Jae. The guy is too snuggly… I am well aware that's not a word. **There is also an I important message after the episode that Jaelawyn and I want everyone to read, concerning K/J fics.**]

George P. Swoop studied his wife casually while she dressed her thigh with bandages. He sighed. "You really shouldn't have gone after them with a bullet in your leg, love."

"I just couldn't let them get away," Alanna grumbled. She finished tying the bandage and adjusted her pants leg. She'd cut a hole in the fabric right over the initial wound. It was an old pair of pants; of course, she wouldn't cut up her own business clothing just to accommodate herself. Or maybe she would. It wasn't at the center of her attention. The wound hurt, but not as much as others she'd attained when still in service to the DJPF. Noticing her husband's stare, she turned to him and stuck her tongue out. "I'd like to see you do better."

"Then I will," George grinned. He got up from his rolling office chair and walked to the door. "Get some rest. They could not possibly arrive in Tortall so soon. They might stake out outside the city for days or something."

She yawned and spread out on the blue covered bed. "Have you been borrowing spies from my father again?"

"Miles was too happy to help, Al," he replied. "And besides, I have K. J. on this case."

The corner of Alanna's mouth lifted to produce a crooked smile. She laughed. "Does she know about Roald?"

"Yes, but I'm sure Roald doesn't know about her. Poor kid," he sighed. "I hope Numair and Daine haven't told him anything."

"Do _they_ even know?"

George paused. "Uh, no?"

Alanna threw a pillow at him. "You goof!"

He stuck his tongue out at her this time. She made a face at him, and he started chuckling. They often did this to keep the good humor in their marriage, but it got more difficult as they delved into business matters. George ran a hand through his brown hair and tapped the open button for the door. It slid open with a small sound. "Now, seriously, get some rest. I can't believe you chased them with that kind of wound."

"You worry too much, George."

"Only about you."

"I know. And the same to you, love."

~~

Joren surveyed the damage to his bike. He rubbed his chin, deep in his own thoughts. After a few seconds, he turned to Keladry, who was the only person nearby except Thom. "Hand me that." He pointed to something on the table. "I have to dig a .50 caliber slug out of the back seat where you were."

Keladry peered at the hole. "It was _that_ close?"

He started to work on his bike. Keladry and Thom watched, having nothing else to do. At the moment, Cleon and Faleron were eating and Lalasa was forced to listen to her father's plans as he told them to Roger and Vinson. It was late at night, and they were still in the polluted city of Carthak, where crime reigned supreme.

An hour later, when Joren was finished fussing over his precious bike, they sat around a metal folding table, having a few mild drinks to pass the time and drown their cares. Keladry, usually the one abstaining from alcohol, made a face as the burning fluid made its way down her throat. She decided only to have a few sips just so they stopped teasing her about being goodie-two-shoes. Joren was tempted to say something witty and demeaning to her, but settled for giving her insulting glances. Thom was wrapped up in his own thoughts.

Out of nowhere, he said, "I have to get something from my old labs."

Keladry scrunched up her face as she downed another sip of her beer. "What?"

"My secret labs in Tortall-- I bet they're still there," he nodded. "And if they are, I have to get to them. Some of my work is for the Immortals and…" He paused. "Oh, forget it. Ozorne will never let me out of his sight."

Joren shrugged. "On the contrary. The scum is too busy to care. When we go into Tortall, just break away from the rest of the group. Mindelan will go with you."

"What? Hey, I don't remember volunteering!"

"Stop whining and just do as you're told," he glared at her. She glared back. Joren felt mocking laughter threatening to burst forth from his mouth. The _real_ reason Keladry didn't drink was that she turned red when she had the tiniest sip of alcohol. He made a mental note not to give any drinks to her in the future unless he felt like a good, humiliating laugh. His thoughts eventually returned to the situation at hand. "I think I'll send King and Kennan to retrieve Jasson."

Thom frowned. "Why would you do that?"

"They'd make a good distraction breaking into the presidential headquarters while we move in for the kill."

"You've got a twisted mind. Those two wouldn't make it past the front gate," Thom commented.

He nodded. "Maybe not. Oh well."

Keladry set her glass down. "Asshole."

Joren gave her a once over. "Okay… obviously half a glass of beer is still too much for _you_."

"What makes you say that?" Thom asked. He decided it was best not to comment on Keladry's facial color.

"Miss Perfect here doesn't curse--"

"Only to you," she replied. Her face was still red because of reasons beyond her control. She was definitely sober, and not drunk. The alcohol just made her want to let loose. It was pretty stupid. She thought to herself, only people with nothing else better to do use drinking as a way to relax. "Just give me a good practice dummy and I can busy myself just fine," she thought. And then, Keladry wondered why she was even sitting with these two men instead of doing just that.

"Give me that," Joren growled, getting annoyed with her. He grabbed her tall glass of beer and down the rest of its contents in one swift move. "There. Remind me never to let you drink again. Damn, you get so annoying…"

"Speak for yourself," she muttered and leaned her elbows on the table. Thom glanced back and forth between the two. Utterly confused by the turn of conversation, he quietly sat there, until remembering their former topic. "So, I'm going to my lab, right?"

Keladry nodded. "Yeah. I guess I'll take you."

"And King and Kennan _will_ infiltrate the presidential estate. Kennan should have had _some_ training in it, and the rest-- King can fill him in," Joren added. "Why don't you go tell Tasikhe and Conté, huh?"

"Yeah, I'll do it," Thom said and stood up. He scratched his head. "After all these years, I'm finally going home" He smiles briefly. "My sister… I know she isn't a bad person. There must be another reason why she's in this. Going home? You'd think I'd be a little happier."

"You'd think we _all_ would be," Keladry sighed. She rolled her eyes. "Just comes to show what a 'Wanted' appearance in the news does to you. Not to mention all those pesky kidnapping charges." She frowned. "They can't get us for that anymore now that Roald's gone, can they?"

Thom shook his head. Joren just shrugged. She drummed her fingers on the table. "In any case, we've got to get Roald out of there before Ozorne attacks, and then, maybe convince his parents to let him go once they come back."

"I think we already clarified that we would do exactly that," Joren narrowed his eyes into slits.

"Whatever," she waved him off. She also stood up. "Let's go, Thom. It's late. You find Ozorne and Roger, I'll get the stooges."

The three went their separate ways from there. Thom went to speak to Ozorne and Roger about his plans to go to the lab, and then of evacuating Roald from the premises before they attacked. Joren went to his room, having downed much alcohol and still remaining remarkably sober. Keladry, still as red as a tomato, located Cleon and Faleron playing a simple game of gin rummy downstairs in the basement's of Ozorne's new hideout.

Faleron looked up when he heard footsteps. His face immediately contorted. His politeness kept him from saying anything other than, "My, you're looking… bright today, Officer. Care to play?"

Cleon turned around to greet her. "Hey, Kel-- whoa, you look like a-- mmpphh!"

The thief clamped his hand over his best friend's mouth, determined not to let him make a fool of himself. He smiled apologetically at her. "I'm sorry. He's gotten into my sugar supply of candy-- you know how much I care for them-- and Cleon is the number one person who should not be given any energy-inducing product at all! Haha!" He paused. "Well, it is actually scientifically proven that sugar usually does not have as much to do with a person's hyperactivity as much as one's personality or background, but I know you get the point…"

Keladry blinked. "What?"

"Never mind," he mumbled, letting Cleon go after the red head started gripping Faleron's wrist tightly. 

"Jeez, Fal! All I wanted to tell Kel was that she's--"

Faleron stomped on Cleon's foot under the table.

"OWW!"

"You're too dense, Kennan. Friendly, admired, and good-intentioned, but incredibly dense at times, yes?"

Keladry shook her head. "I think I'll go now…"

"Why did you come down here in the first place?" Faleron asked, not wanting her to go so soon, but also wanting her to leave lest she find out about her appearance. Cleon was sure to receive a brutal smack upside the head for all the inadvertently rude comments he was bound to make. And the two men were sporting enough bruises as it was.

"Well, we need two good men to sneak into the president's estate an hour before Ozorne attacks and get Roald out of there."

"Ozorne's attacking?" Cleon frowned. "But, we don't want to hurt anyone."

"We also don't want Ozorne hurting us by not cooperating with his genius plan," Faleron yawned. "Excuse me. Now, what were you saying?"

"As I said, we need--

"A Few Good Men? I liked that movie," Cleon grinned. "If you need it, you can go down to the video store around the corner. Of course, you'd have to go incognito since there are remotely a few people still searching for us--"

"Kennan?"

"Joking! Can't anyone take a joke anymore?"

"Not your type of humor, no."

"Shut _up_, Fal." There was a pause. "So, Kel, seriously, why are you so red?"

Faleron slapped his forehead.

~~

Tortall never looked so beautiful. With its tall skyscrapers standing like metal giants against the clear blue sky, and its people commuting about, content with their lives. It was a place of business. It was a place of merriment, and sorrow alike. It was the home of the president of their country, Mithros, and the most prosperous country on the face of the planet. Within its countless streets, two young men wearing trench coats and hats despite the sun's warmth walked side by side.

"So, how do you propose we sneak into the presidential estate?" Cleon asked.

Faleron rubbed his chin. "I've been told that there's a group of officials and sometimes Councilmen who enter the estate with their secretaries and servants. Now, I also know for a fact that they don't keep track of their servants. So, with that being said--"

"Disguised infiltration. I like it." He paused. "I never received training in _that_ though. We were shown how to force an entrance through multiple points in the perimeter of the area."

"Well, I think we'll have to go as custodians."

Cleon sputtered more than spoke. "What? But… but…" He kicked the ground. "Why custodians? They have to do all these messy jobs, like cleaning up the bathrooms and stuff. Fal!" he whined. "Can't we be clerks or something?"

"They expect clerks to know stuff," Faleron replied. "So, that rules you out." 

"Haha. I'm laughing on the inside," his companion rolled his eyes. 

"Besides," he explained. "Custodians appear in all sorts of weird places in the Presidential Estate. Clerks don't. And neither do rebel soldiers 'forcing entrance through multiple points in the perimeter of the place'."

"Area," the redhead corrected.

"Whatever." He cleared his throat. "The point is, we're bound to be seen. This is the Presidential Estate, for heaven's sake. So why bother trying to sneak like common thieves?"

"But you're a th--"

"I am not common, nor do I choose to be a thief any longer. Let's just go."

They entered a thrift store. The automatic doors slid apart as they walked in. A man at the counter eyed them briefly before returning to the football game he was watching on a mini holo-screen. The two young men made their way to the back of the thrift store, fingering dusty uniforms. 

The shorter man held up a gray uniform with a blue patch on the front. He whispered, "All the uniforms for custodians and other public service jobs have nearly the same uniform. This will be easy." As he examined the racks of uniforms for fitting sizes, Cleon wandered a little ways down another isle. Faleron compared one article of clothing to another. He patted it and immediately a cloud of dust arose. He coughed mildly and fanned the air. 

"Kennan, where are you? I just thought of something," he said as he finally selected two uniforms. "We have to cover fingerprints and then something for our faces." He made his way over to the isle his friend was in. "What are you doing."

Cleon tossed something at him. It landed on his head.

"A hat?" Faleron smirked. He reached up and took the hat off. "Hey! This--"

"Looks exactly like your old one," the redhead finished his sentence, nodding. 

"Thank you," he replied. His smirk broadened into a smile. A pang went through his heart as he turned the hat over and over in his hands while the uniforms were slung over one shoulder. The hat resembled his old one so much, it could have been picked up by the police, thrown into the trash, and then picked out by a homeless man who traveled to Tortall and sold it to the thrift store. 

Cleon tapped his foot impatiently. "Come on, dude. Let's go find some skin tinting solutions or some hair dye, if you're so determined about altering our appearances. We don't have much time!"

~~

Roald sipped his sweetened tea hesitantly while sitting in the presence of the Council members, Daine and Numair, but also the First Lady, Thayet Conté. Presently, she was clothed in a business outfit consisting of an ironed white shirt with ruffled hems, a beige jacket, and a beige skirt that went to her knees. Her hair was swept up into a French twist. She was a sweet tempered woman, with a strong will and practical, but at the same time, imaginative mind. Thayet was the epitome of all these things physically embodied. She was slender, graceful, smart, and-- when called for-- witty. Almost immediately, Roald felt something maternal from her, but he always felt that way around her, ever since his father had been elected beside Jonathan Conté.

"Are you hungry, Roald?" Thayet gestured to a silver tray of stacked croissants. 

"Thank you, but no, ma'am," he answered. Daine seemed amused at something. She tucked her dark brown hair behind her ear and sat up a little straighter, as a dignitary would.

"Madam," she began, addressing Thayet. "Is President Conté to join us?"

The First Lady glanced at her thin gold watch. "Yes, he is. A few more minutes." She peered at him. "How are you? That kidnapping business must have been dreadful."

Roald looked to Numair for guidance. The older man narrowed his eyes and nodded his head imperceptibly. 

"I'm well, thank you. The kidnapping was terrible," he lied. "But they did nothing to injure me, if that's what you mean to ask."

Thayet accepted the answer. She gestured around them. "You'll excuse the lack of guards around, I hope. The food became contaminated somehow and half of the guards around here are ill."

He nodded.

"Madam," Daine began again. "Off the record, how do _you_ propose we handle the rebel leader Ozorne Tasikhe?"

"And do you have any idea why he truly wants to attack us?" Numair added with a steely gaze. 

The dark haired woman shifted in her cushioned seat. She sensed the pressure of the questions, although it was assured her answers would not be spoken of again outside of that room. "I do believe that the best way to handle Mr. Tasikhe is by apprehending him as we came close to several weeks ago. The circumstances will be different upon arrest, but it can be done. And then, I find it best to put him on trial for the deaths of those he and his comrades killed in his rebellions."

Roald set his porcelain cup back down on its saucer. "But, why does he rebel?"

Thayet sighed. "I normally would not reveal this to anyone, but out of the entire Council, I trust you the most." She lowered her gaze to her lap where her hands were neatly folded. "My husband and I have been overseeing a private project for a lengthy time now, and it raises bit of a controversy as to our motives. I believe Mr. Tasikhe found out about this through some secret source. He either objects to our reasons or wishes to use our project himself."

"Are you at liberty to say what that project is, madam?" Daine asked, a bit of resentment crawling into her voice. She covered it up before it became public. "We have only the concern of the people at heart."

"No, I cannot. But I can say that Jonathan and I do this in hopes of improving the survival of those who are rare and giving them a chance to live."

Roald was dumbfounded. That wasn't the answer he was expecting at all. "She has to be lying," he thought. But then he quickly cleared his mind of that. He knew Thayet and Jonathan. Their reasons for experimenting on Immortals had to be valid. And if what Thayet said was true, then was Ozorne misunderstanding the President and his wife or did he want the Immortals for some other reason?

He had a headache. Perhaps Daine and Numair could shed some light on the situation later on, after they left the presence of the First Lady. They sat in pleasant silence-- for even if Roald was confused out of his mind, Thayet was polite in her smiles and the two council members were continuing to act as protocol demanded.

The door opened. A reasonably tall man with midnight black hair and sapphire blue eyes entered the room. Unlike his wife, his skin was slightly tanned from giving speeches out in the open air under the sun. He had a short beard, not trailing off his chin. The way he walked in his fine black suit, the way he carried himself, was more than any introduction could ever be. There was always something celestial or omniscient about Jonathan Conté, and yet there he stood as a normal man with all his faults and all his graces. His wife sighed in content.

"Jonathan, dear," Thayet greeted. He smiled, took her hand in both his, and leaned forward to peck her on the cheek.

"Good afternoon, Mr. President," Numair and Daine said simultaneously out of years of practice. 

"Hello to you all." His gaze swept across all their faces, finally resting upon Roald's. "Ah, Roald. It's so good to see you. You look very well."

"Thank you, sir."

He took a seat for himself. "So, how has everything been?"

"Better, sir. Better," Roald allowed himself to reply. There wasn't much he could say without lying to the most powerful man in the country. And the intimidation factor increased more so when Jonathan kept his gaze intently focused upon the Vice President's son. 

"Your parents sent news from overseas. They're having a very pleasant time with the peace councils in the Yamanis."

Roald gulped. He'd just come from all over the Yamanis-- Scanra, Tyra, and Galla… Suppose he had met his parents there. They could have found him and dragged him by his ear all the way back to Tortall. Or worse, they could act against his friends. And at that point in his life, he was considering his friends more valuable than his parents. "Lalasa," he thought. He hoped she was safe. If he couldn't see her, he had to at least help with her cause. "But her cause is her father's cause."

Decision-making worsened. He didn't know which side to join. If he joined Numair and Daine, they might be found out and held for treason. If he joined the rest of the government, he could be harming the Immortals or worse, his friends. If he joined Lalasa, who was forced to be with Ozorne, than he was definitely harming the government _and_ Numair and Daine. And to top that off, he might not even be helping the Immortals if Ozorne had ulterior motives.

The only side he knew he could trust through and through was Joren and Keladry. They did not want to affiliate themselves with Ozorne, Numair and Daine, nor the government. They were stumbling in between, as he was at the moment.

"Is something troubling you?" Thayet asked, concerned.

"No, no. I have a slight headache. If you would excuse me, Madam, I wish to lie down in my room. Plus, I must check on Jump."

"Jump?"

Roald coughed gently. "A dog I found under capture. He's very nice. May I be excused now?"

She nodded. "Go right ahead. We shall see you at dinner, yes? There will be some entertainers from Tusaine. A troupe of female acrobats."

"Splendid, Madam." He nodded. "Good day, Mr. Salmalin, Ms. Sarassri… Mr. President."

Jonathan smiled at him. Roald could not bring himself to return the smile. He brought his hand to his right temple, bowed his head, and turned to exit the room. His head certainly throbbed.

~~

An hour later:

"We're in," Cleon grinned, flashing his pearly white teeth at his companion. "We're actually in!"

"Shh," Faleron shushed. "Not so loud. Let's get to the guests wing."

They trekked down the plush red carpeted halls. Golden light fixtures of the previous century's style adorned the walls, giving a classy, refined appearance. There was not one speck of dirt to be found; save for the dustpans they carried with them as part of their disguise. As of yet, there were no other meetings with other persons in the large mansion. They behaved as normally as possible in front of every security camera they came upon. After figuring their way through the mazes of halls, they reached a section labeled: Guests Wing.

"This is it," the taller exclaimed. "So, which room is his?"

"How am I supposed to know?"

Cleon pouted. He was about to express his disappointment when he noticed a sign on one of the nearer doors. "Look!"

"Huh?"

He pointed to a laminated paper taped to the door. " 'To be presented tonight in the ballroom and greeted by all.' Hey! They could be holding a welcome back party for him."

Faleron frowned. "I don't know…"

His partner looked all around them. "Come on! This has to be it! We don't have much time, Fal."

"Okay, okay. All the guestrooms are connected through inner doors anyway. I'll use a key card I bought from a guy in Rogue's Bay to open the door."

"Yes!"

He shook his finger warningly at the taller man. "Hey, the card only works once. If you're wrong, we'll have to bust our way through all the inner doors until we get to his room."

Cleon nodded impatiently. His face was lit up like a little boy's impish face. The prospect of reuniting with their third stooge delighted his childlike character. He shifted from foot to foot while Faleron sorted through his pockets to get his key card. Finally, he slid the key card into an emergency slot on the door command panel. The light turned green and the door slid open.

The room was empty. Worse, it seemed as if no one was occupying it. They set down their dustpans under the bed and went around the room, studying it.

"Good one. No we _have_ to go by the inner doors since we already used up the key card's decoder."

"Why can't it work twice?"

"Sorry, my good fellow. I'm not sure of the properties of such things."

The two men closed the door behind them, wary of any passing in the halls. There was a queen size bed against one wall with dark green covers. It was like they had checked into the best hotel suites. Plush carpeting, billowy curtains, small paintings decorated the wall. Soft white towels were stacked atop a chair, waiting to be used. Faleron walked over to a real door in the wall that swung outward from him. The main doors were normal, but the inner doors were old fashioned. 

"Can you pick the locks?" Cleon asked.

"Of course. Let's just hope this room isn't inhabited." The thief-- or now former thief as he proclaimed-- set to work on the old fashioned lock with a tool from his pocket. There was an audible click after five seconds.

"That was fast," his partner commented, gripping the brass door handle. "Okay! Here we go!"

The next few things happened so quickly that Faleron could not afterwards recall what truly went on.

They opened the door and Cleon, forgetting their need to be stealthy, ran in with Faleron trailing behind. A girl, or rather young woman, with dark wavy hair cut to her neck was standing beside her bed. She was clad in only an orange leotard with black spots and her pantyhose rolled up halfway. She shrieked and slapped Cleon, but missed Faleron.

"I'm so sorry! I thought this room was--"

*slap*

"Ow!"

*slap*

"_Ow_! Stop that!"

"Help! Someone!" the young woman screamed. "PERVERTS!"

*slap*

"We're so sorry! I swear, I didn't see anything!" Cleon pleaded with the young woman to stop her panicked noise. Faleron ran past both of them to the next door. He frantically began to pick the lock while more slaps could be heard in the background. The girl was clinging to a pillow to cover herself, though by Cleon's opinion, she was not nude. Still, she continued to scream hysterically.

"Let's go!" 

*slap*

"Aww, come on! Give me a break, lady!"

"HELP!"

~~

Screams could be heard dying down in the previous room. Faleron winced momentarily upon glancing over his shoulder at the door. "Uh… so sorry, we're trying to um… chase out a rat through the rooms… uh, yeah."

"RAT?" the young woman squeaked before her eyes rolled up into the back of her head and she fainted. Cleon dived forward to catch her and set her down on top of her bed. 

"At least I didn't get slapped this time," he muttered. Faleron snorted.

~~

"EEK! You peeping tom!"

"No, no, you don't understand! We're chasing a r--"

*slap*

Pause.

"_Pick that lock already, would you?_" Cleon yelled.

~~

"Sorry to barge in, but we're chasing a r-- hey…" the redhead stopped mid-sentence. He casually walked over to the young lady sitting in her whole costume at the low coffee table. "Has anyone ever told you how big your…" he paused, "eyes are?"

"Why, no, but really?" she asked, her smile broadening into a grin. She didn't seem to mind his unannounced entrance or his reason for being there. She had black hair that had hints of brown in it, and flawless creamy skin that was just so beautiful… Not to mention, Cleon thought, that her leotard's top dipped very low to her--

"Oh, yes, yes, very large and… voluptuous," his gaze trailed a bit downward. He caught himself and righted his vision line. "Er, I mean, sparkly. Your eyes, that is."

Faleron glared at him while picking the next lock. He always knew Cleon was a tremendous flirt, but he'd always left the goofy sharpshooter before he had to listen to the nonsense. Faleron decided to leave his partner there while he proceeded into the next room. He waited until the click was heard and carefully opened the door. He could still hear Cleon's conversation with the other young lady as he crept into the next room.

"Why are your cheeks so red? You look like you've been struck!" she exclaimed with concern.

Cleon sighed. "Yes. Some people will not listen to reason, but I bore it quietly."

"Aww…"

Faleron turned and looked back at his partner's act. He thought, "Six slaps and a faint within five minutes and he bore it quietly? Yeah, right!" He shook his head and went further into the next room. Thank the heavens for plush carpeting that dampened all sound beyond hearing of human ears. He looked around the room. It was occupied, for there was a set of men's clothing on top of the bed, and a pillow that fell carelessly to the floor. 

As an afterthought, he picked up the pillow and set it back onto the bed. Then he walked over to the curtains, afraid to see Ozorne and his men raiding the estate. 

"What are you looking at?"

"Oh, nothing." Pause. "Wait…" He whirled around. "Roald! It's you! Finally!" His insecurity got the best of him again. "There aren't any leotard-clad women in this room, are there? Not that I'm accusing you of cheating on Lalasa, but--"

"No, of course not," Roald shook his head. His headaches seemed to fade away. "How did you get in here? In those clothes?"

"Don't ask. Let us just leave this place." Faleron picked up some of Roald's clothing, shoved them toward the Vice President's son, and went back to the last room where their third man was busy flirting. Behind him, he could hear a familiar dog barking in annoyance of being ignored. Roald picked up Jump and held the wriggling mammal in his arms while following the other man.

"Kennan, let's go."

Cleon stood up from the table in a melodramatic motion. "Well, I'm off to fight those unjust scoundrels."

"Oh, but be careful!" the girl clasped his hand.

He smiled reassuringly. "Do not fear. I wouldn't get myself harmed for all the world if it meant I'd see you again."

"Really?" she sighed, stars in her eyes.

Roald glanced imploringly at Faleron for an explanation. The former thief only narrowed his eyes at the redhead, stalked forward, grabbed Cleon by the ear, and dragged him back to the other room.

"Ouchies! Stop that!"

~~

Keladry stared anxiously at her pager for the time. There was yet to be news for Faleron and Cleon. She stood in waiting at a random street corner somewhere in downtown Tortall, far from DJPF Headquarters. Ozorne had decided that half of his 'troops' would be spread out among the city, ready to converge upon the Presidential Estate toward the north. 

Beside her were Thom and Joren. One sat on a bus stop bench, sipping from a plastic straw his fruit flavored drink. He kept his gaze fixed on his shoes, tracing the concrete slabs with his brown penny loafer's toe. His expression was quite amiable, but altogether bothered and worried. The other took his normal position against a street post. His arms were folded across his chest, sunglasses upon the bridge of his nose, looking very intimidating and untouchable. It almost seemed to provoke people to come up to him and challenge him, but something else held them back.

"I think we should go ahead, Thom," she said to the older man on the red painted bench. He looked up, fiddling with the straw. 

"Oh, yes. But what about the others?"

"They can get back on their own."

Joren nodded. He took something from his pocket and held it out to her. It was a folded piece of paper. She looked at him with a mixture of surprise and bewilderment. Hesitantly, Keladry took it from him.

"What's this?"

"Look at it after you're done at his lab. Now, get going. You're late _again_, Mindelan."

She glared at him. "Don't you ever back off?"

"Don't you ever do what I tell you?" he retorted in a voice similar to hers. Thom thought it best to come between the two before they started shooting insults at each other. He stood up, threw the cup at the nearest wastebasket on the corner next to the newspaper dispenser, and cleared his throat. 

"I think it's time to go, Miss Mindelan."

"Fine," Kel said evenly, still keeping her gaze fixed on Joren. There was suddenly an uprising of horrid emotion in her chest. It was hardly an insult to either of them. They were just playing at words to aggravate the other. But somehow, the slightest taunt sent both to their ends. She wanted to hate him. Keladry had never wanted to hate him so much in her life. But why did she? There was no reason-- no reason at all. 

She turned away briskly, signaling for Thom to follow her. Joren watched them depart before he too, turned the other direction and left. He pushed his sunglasses back up the bridge of his nose from where they had slid. He didn't even want to know what her problem was, or, really, what was his. He pondered briefly on whether it was wise of him to give her that piece of paper, considering the last piercing stares he'd received. They rivaled his own better than he thought they would.

Not too long after, the former female 1B officer and 'the Wizard' had arrived in a set apart group of buildings. As Keladry walked behind Thom as he searched the one story brick buildings, realization dawned upon her.

"We're five minutes away from the Presidential Estate," she said aloud, breaking the silence between them.

"That we are," Thom replied. He also nodded his head and stroked his beard thoughtfully. "I believe it's this one." He pointed to a particular hut with a crumbling doorway. "Mind the supports. Splinters, you know."

She frowned at the dust spilling down from the poorly shingled structure. "I don't think it would be smart to go inside this. It looks to collapse any second now."

He waved her off. "No, no. It's perfectly safe. And no one will see us. This whole area is fenced off and littered with false power line and electrical warnings."

"So, all these generators sitting out in the open aren't real?"

"No. They are just decoration. Perhaps someone has been keeping them under maintenance for me."

"Then wouldn't they also be part of the government-- you know, the one that we're trying to find out about to see if they really are as corrupt as we've heard?" She made a gesture for him to answer, but he did not. Keladry put on her mask of impassivity again as they entered the building. 

Surprisingly, it led underground. A manhole was constructed to the right of the building's entrance hall. Together, they removed the heavy iron lid and climbed down the hole. Halfway down the ladder, Keladry stopped. She reached behind her with one hand to grab a tiny flashlight she kept in her belt. Then she held it in her teeth and continued downward.

Her efforts were mostly in vain when she discovered that decade old light bulbs and shop lights lined the earthen tunnels while being covered by crude plastic wraps in attempt to shield it from dampness. Thom continued to lead her. Sometimes, the tunnel forked. Other times, it was a choice between several old fashioned doors. 

Finally, they reached their destination, or so she thought. Her guide took a nervous breath and gripped the handle of the last door with a trembling hand. He opened the door.

A dim red light shone down on his face. "Identification."

"Thom Trebond. So mote it be."

"Identification accepted." The light disappeared as quickly as it had come. "Enter."

"Welcome to the true 'University of Tortall', Miss Mindelan."

Keladry frowned as she looked around her. "The what?"

They had entered a large atrium, similar in ways to the one he had built in Carthak. To one side were a grassy knoll and trees and other plants. To the other side were a series of man sized containing cells and then various machines like incubators and heart monitors. It was a blend of the natural world, with hospital technology.

"This was the first university of the city-- not that other one where the Gifted go. This is where I taught all the other scientists about the Immortals, or the potential of the project. At that time I did not truly know what I was getting myself into. When I left," he paused, "I sectioned this part of the University away from the one that still remains used. That's where the animals are."

"So, we're under the Presidential Estate? And their labs are right next to this?"

"Yes, that's it." He immediately began to stride toward the grass. "You can go now. I think I'll change my mind and stay here a bit longer than expected.

"No, no. Ozorne would kill me if I let you stay here alone. And so would… Roger," she added after a bit of thought. 

"Roger wouldn't do anything. He's… he's my good friend," Thom said quietly, doubting himself while he said it.

"How did _that_ happen, anyway?" she muttered to herself, not meaning for him to hear her.

Thom shrugged. "He stopped talking to Jon a long time before Jon was elected. He was the black sheep, I'd suppose. And now that I had become the black sheep of all the government's scientists, he thought we shared something in common and offered to help me start out my own lab in Carthak. He's always kept me in touch with the world."

Keladry did not reply right away. "Wait. You told us a long time ago that you received news on the Immortals from one person that you trusted very much. He was your source?"

"Yeah," he nodded. "Who else?"

She did not like that answer at all. No one trusted Roger. Well, save for this very misled, but brilliant man beside her. Was all the information that Thom received and retold them true? Or was it truly just a ruse to tug them in the wrong direction?

The questions went unanswered, for right then, the ground started to shake. Bits of dirt and dust fell from the ceiling. The clanging of metal against metal sounded in their ears as they braced themselves against the walls.

"By Glory," she exclaimed. "They're attacking already?"

~~

__

" 'This just in, the President's Estate is under attack. I repeat: the President's Estate is under attack… _It seems that there are hundreds of men and women storming the perimeters. Grenades have been launched into various strong points in the defense. The DJPF and the Presidential Defense is slowly breaking down under the assault!' "_

~~

"Hit the dirt!" Faleron yelled as he saw a grenade fly past their heads. The three men dove into the bushes surrounding the Presidential Garden. A second later, an explosion flared up behind them, sending dirt and grass up into the air. It rained down ash as well. Sounds of machine guns filled the air. Bursts of fire and light all around.

"Damn it! Move! Move!" Faleron shoved the others in front of him, though he had twisted his ankle badly in the frantic fall. Cleon slung his arm over his shoulders and Roald also aided him. They limped along the battered lawn while men were running around. Jump ran after them, barking all the way.

Some they recognized for Tortall's own officers, and the rest as Jonathan's elite guard. All were putting out fires and taking up defensive positions all around the estate as other men in an assortment of different uniforms gathered at their respective distances firing back, or throwing grenades.

"This is madness! Where is our defense?" Cleon shouted over the incessant roar of the gunshots.

Roald felt something like bile threatening to make its way through his throat. "They're all sick… They've sabotaged the defense in advance."

"What!" the other two exclaimed.

"The food was contaminated," he continued. Now that he said it aloud, his belly started to cramp up. As his stomach muscles clenched, he realized he must have eaten some of that same food before he'd met with Thayet and the others. The pained young man now doubled over, grasping his sides and groaning.

Cleon looked upward at the sky. "Why us? Can't we get a break?"

~~

__

"'The leader of the attack has now been identified as Ozorne Tasikhe, of Carthak, the same rebel leader who led the rebellions in Thrace and Attica! The President and his wife, along with several other Council Members are within the mansion. All Dominion Jewel Protection Forces are abandoning their posts to fight Tasikhe, further progress shall be updated within the hour…"

~~

Keladry left Thom, as much as she felt it was wrong to, and went back to the surface through another route. This time, she ended within the perimeters of the one place supposedly incapable of penetration. DJPF officers ran back and forth behind makeshift shields and posts, exchanging fire with Ozorne's men.

"There goes another one!" a man screeched. He pointed wildly at her.

"Not again," she muttered to herself. Her eyes widened when she saw an explosive fly up in the air. Keladry started to sprint away. Halfway through, she tripped and used the rest of her momentum to fling herself behind a fallen fountain statue. She must have been in the garden.

The blast threw her past the statue, causing her to slam into the ground roughly. Keladry tucked and rolled, as she was taught in training, and finally slapped her hands on the ground to stop herself from going any farther. A piece of shrapnel made clear its presence in her shoulder when she rolled onto her back. Instantly, she hissed and bit her lip to keep from crying out. 

"I have to get my hands on some heavy weapons," she thought while rolling onto her side. As if by habit, she put aside the pain and forced herself to concentrate on the world as it whirled around her in a mixture of chaos and anarchy. Smoke filled the air. Holes and black carbon monoxide stains covered the walls of the garden. Keladry dragged herself closer to the wall. Her heart was racing. 

"Breathe through your nose," her training suddenly reminded her. "Not the mouth. Don't start to hyperventilate." She hissed as she felt her shoulder again. Now another long gash made itself known on the underside of her left arm. She could only get herself killed out here. Maybe she could get back to the secret manhole she had used to come into the estate. Thom could have some weapons hidden in that laboratory of his.

A piece of paper fell from her jacket pocket. Keladry ignored the world around her as best she could while reaching down to unfold it and read. It was in Joren's handwriting-- the note he gave to her before she and Thom left. An address, not far into the city from her vantage point. There was nothing but nine blessed, beautiful words after that: Your bike and all the ammunition we'll ever need.

"Son of a bitch! My hair! Singed by that stupid blast!"

Her head jerked up. Those voices were familiar.

"Shut up, Cleon! We have to keep moving! Come on, Roald, not that much more until we…"

"Until we what?" the first voice argued. "How the heck can we get out of here? They're attacking from all sides!"

There was a cry of pain. "Jump! Jump, down. No, no, not now!"

Keladry forced herself to stand up, keeping out of the range of vision of the DJPF officers and Ozorne's men still grappling and fighting. She turned the corner of the garden's broken wall. A sigh of relief left her when her eyes rested upon the three familiar young men and a growling dog.

"Kel!" Cleon exclaimed. He ran to her and hugged her, being the only one uninjured enough to move as freely as he wished. He let go and gripped her by the shoulders. "We can't escape! Ozorne's men can't clear a path for us!"

She looked about. "Yes, yes we can. We can fight our way through that part." She pointed toward the shattered high iron fence and the broken barb wire and electrical borders around it. "The fight has moved on towards the front and the back. The sides are left open for us." 

"A little help?" Faleron intoned as he struggled to move with his ankle. Roald, paler and sicklier appearing than before, only kept his mouth clamped shut as he moved slowly with the former thief. Cleon and Keladry went to help them walk along. 

"No, Kennan, get your guns out. Don't leave us defenseless," Kel ordered. Her throat was so parched. It was difficult to speak anything to her comrades.

"Right," he nodded and left the two men to her support while upholstering his weapons. 

~~

Joren steeled his soul as he fired again and another man fell. His face was grim, but set, as he marched beside the men he most despised. It was only a temporary alliance, he reasoned with himself. Besides, he was not the only one suffering. Lalasa was forced to stay by Vinson's side, armed with only one puny pistol, detesting every exaggerated touch Vinson gave her as a means of 'protecting' her on their forward attack.

"Now where the devil is my cousin," Roger said in a low, chilling voice. He spotted the blonde biker from the corner of his eye. "Stone, come with me. We'll go for a hunt." He grinned. "It's open season."

~~

__

"'The DJPF reports as of 4:58 PM, the President's Estate has been captured. The authorities have yet to launch an attack for fear of what they might do to President Conté. There is no news of the President's safety or health, but it is believed that a little over half of the estate's civilians and soldiers are either wounded or dead…' "

~~

Keladry burst into the private gun store, out of breath. The other three she had left to Thom while she alone used a stolen DJPF squad car to enter the city and reach the address on the piece of paper. The aged man behind the counter fell back a step, reaching under the counter. His thick white eyebrows lowered as he glared at her menacingly.

"No, no, I'm here to get… my bike," she coughed. She needed a drink of water so badly. The man nodded, knowing exactly who she was.

"It's in the back. What else?" he asked, eyeing her with distrust still.

"Anything you've got. You've heard of the President's place," she mumbled grouchily, leaning upon the counter. "Hurry!"

The man nodded. He went into the back room while Keladry walked to another door that led to a storage place. A black blanket covered a large form-- her bike. She put her hands over her face, trying to get a grip. Her strength was fading. How could she continue fighting?

The man came back out with small black bags full of clips, then several different types of semi-automatic handguns. Then the man unlocked the display case and reached for another gun, this one silver. It reminded her of something else, but she couldn't place it. Not that it mattered- she had to get back to the battle.

"Give this to Stone," the man commanded, handing it to her. He shoved a first aid kit into the bags along with the other weapons. "And you might want this, too. Wipe the blood and dirt off your face, why don't you?"

She reached up and touched her cheek with her fingertips. Then she brought them before her eyes and frowned. The red mixed with dirt now produced a rusty color, and then a thin layer of yellow over her flushed and warm skin. A drop of sweat slid down her neck uncomfortably until it soaked with the torn collar of her shirt. After a few seconds, she glanced at the gun storeowner and then at her hands.

She honestly couldn't remember in their escape if the blood was hers or that of someone else.

Author: Hope you enjoyed that. Anyway, the message that Jae and I have for everyone… I don't know how to start this.

As the first author of J/K, I have concerns to express. Recently, there has been a rise in the number of Keladry/Joren stories at ff.net. Jaelawyn told me there were none before I showed up last year, so basically, it's my fault. There are a large population of Neal/Kel fics and a large population of Alanna/George or /Jonathan, and then Numair/Daine fics. Most of these stories are good, but I am reminded of why I started writing J/K. The Neal/Kel fics started to get too similar, too unchanging. Kel admits her crush, Neal is too ready to say 'I love you' right back… You know. I am not trying to discourage any N/K authors here at all. I like N/K authors and the latter of their stories. I love K/ original character stories even more because they're fresh. What I mean to say is that, if the J/K population becomes any larger, I'm afraid all the fics will seem the same. Something tragic happens to bring the two of them to work together or Joren has had a crush on Keladry secretly the whole time and just now admits it. I love this pairing to death. That's why Jae and I are concerned that all the J/K stories will start being the same. 

Don't get us wrong. No, we are not trying to hog the pairing to ourselves. We're honored to have anything to _do_ with J/K. But please, PLEASE, any fellow J/K authors out there, think of this: Next time you think to write anything J/K, ask yourself, is this idea remotely original? Will too much of this eventually make the pairing boring? If you can't bring yourself to analyze your own story, bring it to **both** Jaelawyn Noble and I, and we will be glad to help. No, we are not just trying to discourage people. Remember that. 

No matter what we tell you about your story, you alone have the right of whether to post it. If we've given it the okay-for-j/k-pureness thumbs up, then fine. If we give it the thumbs down and it's still posted, we won't say a word. It'll stay completely confidential. We're here to help other j/k authors with characterization, feasibility, and whatnot. No, nobody's paying us. We're unofficial advisors that don't even have to be acknowledged (although we'd be very, very happy and grateful if we were sought!) Fanfiction.net has nothing to do with this. We just want to make sure this pairing is not overly polluted! That leads to a boring pairing! That leads to the end of all J/K fics! (Insert scream here) Okay, okay. (Taking a deep breath) We are only too happy to ensure the future of J/K is a solid, eternally interesting one. 

So, talk to us. Thank you.

   [1]: mailto:silverwLng@aol.com



	18. The Enemy Of My Enemy

It Could Be Worse

Episode 18: The Enemy of My Enemy

By Sulia Serafine

[3-3-01. A Protector of the Small fanfic set in an alternate universe; all credit goes to Tamora Pierce. I'm broke, so you can't sue me.

Oh, one more thing: BAD LANGUAGE (I. E. cursing, swearing…). You have been warned!

E-mail me at [silverwLng@aol.com][1], okay?]

"Jump, no. Jump, down. Stop that. Stop… jumping!" Roald pleaded with the dog. The crooked-tailed dog only barked and darted between his legs and that of Thom's. 

"He never stops," Thom smiled, reaching down to scratch Jump's back. He returned his attention to the various files he held in his hands. The four men gathered around the collapsible table, waiting for Keladry to return. Roald was feeling better than before after drinking a concoction the oldest man present made from things in the secret lab. Faleron's ankle was sprained, but he bore the pain quietly and relieved it of most of his weight. 

Cleon examined and re-examined his weapons out of boredom. The rifling of the barrel, the chamber, the safety… The sounds of battle overhead were unnerving the usually laid-back redhead. He wanted to go up to the surface and show just whom they were messing with, but it was only a notion. He could never carry that out without getting slaughtered. And the really frustrating part was, he did not know which side would shoot him-- Ozorne's or Tortall's. 

Roald had retold the words of the President and his wife to all of them, sparking curiosity and confusion from all sides. Even Thom was taken aback and suddenly questioning all that Roger had ever told him. There were many denials. At first, he reasoned it was a ruse to misguide them from Ozorne. And then, as it sunk in, he couldn't help but doubt his long time benefactor and contact.

"Do you think President Conté is safe?" Roald asked suddenly. Jump had finally laid himself down by Roald's feet at the bottom of the stool and caused no more trouble. The young man's serious expression was present again, as it so ordinarily was, even more so grim.

"Hopefully. I'd like to get some answers from him before he dies," Faleron said quietly. He honestly didn't expect Jonathan Conté to live with Ozorne winning the fight. There was nothing more than to do but cut his losses and make the best of it-- the same way he'd been trying to deal with his conscience ever since Scanra. "Mr. Trebond, how can we help the Immortals? Can't we break into the new labs from here?"

He nodded. "Yes, and get killed by the security system. There are whole networks of tunnels down here. I don't know what they've changed." He threw up his hands in the air. "If we attempted to find an entrance, we could set off a security alarm and automatic weapons will appear out of the walls and fill our bodies with bullets." Thom paused. "We must wait for Miss Mindelan or else go back up to the surface and enter from the bottom of mansion like the other scientists do. But--"

"Hey! Sounds like a plan to me!" Cleon leapt up from his seat. "So what are we waiting for?"

"I _was_ going to say that we most likely will be killed up there," Thom narrowed his eyes. He stroked his beard again, thinking to himself. "We need any weapons that she can bring."

Cleon groaned. "We're helpless. Man, this blows…"

"That's just about the gist of it," Faleron nodded.

The former sighed and folded his arms. They sat in silence for five minutes until he spoke again.

"Well! I say we risk the tunnels to the new lab. What do you say, fellas?"

Faleron stared at him. Then he exchanged glances with Roald, who shrugged and tapped Thom on the shoulder. The redhead retained a cheery smile, which pushed them over the edge. They soundlessly agreed on a simultaneous reply.

"_Shut up, Cleon._"

~~

Jonathan Conté, the thirty-third president of Mithros, watched calmly as the door opened and another man was shoved into the room, a coarse rope tied about his midsection, binding his arms to his sides. His wife was seated on the floor in handcuffs, remaining as dignified and proud as possible. She would not give them the satisfaction of seeing her fear. Jonathan was proud of her for that. 

He sat back on his heels from where he hid behind the two-way mirror. So, he'd managed to evade Ozorne. It was pure luck that Jonathan was near the secret hiding place when the alert was sounded. Unfortunately for his dear wife, she had been too close toward the front of their vast home, and was captured. But now-- who was this new man just arriving with a bunch of Ozorne's goons?

"Gentle, gentle! I'm a very fragile man," George called sarcastically to his captors as he less than gracefully seated himself besides Thayet on the floor. 

Jonathan grinned. "Of course. George." He frowned when a stirring thought entered his mind. "When did he get here?"

"Who is in charge here?" George demanded, glaring at the assortment of thugs that were in the room. "Well?"

"I am," a man in his late twenties answered. Vinson stepped forward from behind the lackeys and strode up to the president's advisor. "George P. Swoop. It's a pleasure to meet you. And Madam Thayet Conté-- I'm truly blessed by both of your presences." He allowed himself a full, throaty laugh. "Now, where oh where is our President? Would you care to say?" He glanced from one to the other. "Oh, come on. One of you _has_ to know…"

Jonathan tensed up. The sleazy young man irked the political leader beyond measure. He looked familiar, but he couldn't trace it to anything in his present thoughts. The girl beside him bore no resemblance, however. She was on the shorter side, with long dark hair cascading down her back. She looked very fretful, and cast her glances at the floor in shame.

"Even if we did know where Jonathan was, we would never tell you," Thayet replied coldly. She held her chin high, and her face neutral. George did the same, although his face was not quite so neutral toward Vinson.

Vinson rolled his eyes, obviously annoyed. "Fine. Be like that. We'll start shooting your guards one by one right here in the middle of this room until you confess what you know."

Jonathan gasped. He could not believe the cruelty of this man. He could not let it happen. He watched as a couple of goons dragged forward some already wounded guards to the center of the room. There had to be something he could do to stop this. If he didn't, then those men were going to die.

"I know where he is!" George exclaimed hastily. "Just don't shoot them!"

Thayet turned to look at him incredulously while her husband behind the two-way mirror gaped.

Vinson signaled to his men, who fell back into line. He walked up to George and crouched down to meet his eye level. "Oh really? So, where is he?"

"You have to promise to let these men go."

Their captor thoughtfully glanced at the injured guards. "Okay. So, where is he?"

"In the walls, listening like a ghost. Haven't you ever seen that movie, _The People From Under The Stairs_?" George answered. He tried to keep from grinning. Finally, he settled for biting his tongue and hoping that Vinson was too insulted to actually think the story to be true.

The president glared at his good friend, wondering what possessed George to actually tell the truth.

"What bullshit!" Vinson roared. "How dare you tell me such a lie!" He lifted his hand. "Bring the men forward!"

"But… but I wasn't lying!" George protested. He'd hoped that Vinson would not believe. And Vinson didn't, but he was also hoping that he would not shoot the men. He groaned and shook his head in regret.

Lalasa finally looked up to see the scene unfold before her. Two men, blood dripping down the sides of their heads and bruises worn on their bodies, were shoved forward. Instinctively, she rushed to Vinson's side. She slipped her hand in his. A smile crossed his face as he turned to see her. "Ah, my dear, is something the matter?"

She stifled the urge to gag and squeezed his hand tighter. "Vinson, darling," she gritted her teeth during the word, "Please, don't shoot these men. They haven't done anything."

Jonathan admired the girl's courage. It was apparent she did not enjoy Vinson's company, and was seeking to quell his anger through her own dignity's sacrifice.

"Lalasa, dear, I have to make an example of them." He sneered at George. "And show what happens when you mess with Vinson Genlith."

She clung to his whole arm now, receiving a delighted little sound from him. "But please, the mess is going to be so… icky," she feigned her disgust. Lalasa silently swore to herself if she was ever forced to play the fragile helpless woman ever again, that she was going to make someone pay for it-- pay dearly. "Perhaps we can just destroy a lot of important things. Like the statue of the 25th president?"

Vinson sighed. "I find that I can't deny you, love." He signaled to his men. "All right. Let them go. Fetch that wretched statue out in the main hall and bring it here. We can lop off its head and have a game of bowling, eh?"

The other men laughed automatically, even if the sentence was not humorous. Lalasa let out a relieved breath. Behind the glass, Jonathan decided there was nothing more he could do there. The best hope he possessed was to use the secret passages between the walls to get to the laboratory underneath the estate and protect the Immortals from Ozorne.

"May I have a kiss, my love?" Vinson leered at her. She paled.

"Uh… not on the first date, no way," she shook her head while forcing herself to giggle like a hysterical idiot.

He raised one eyebrow. "I'll have to kill a guard out of boredom…"

Lalasa could have cried. She hesitantly offered her cheek to him. He wrapped one arm around her waist. Instead of pecking her on the cheek, he forced his lips against hers. Everyone else in the room observed how her face scrunched up on immediate contact, but dared not say a word. They actually felt sorry for her, even Ozorne's men.

"Roald, where are you?" she thought. "Where is anyone?"

~~

Keladry sped along on her very own red bike. She navigated through the crowded streets filled with DJPF and concerned citizens. The estate loomed ahead of her. She parked her bike in the brush and hid it. Now she had to sneak back in through the place that Thom showed her without anyone catching her. All the things she carried slowed her down, but she bore it silently.

Once again, she slipped through the narrow break in the metal fence and crept low to the ground toward the brick structure she and Thom had entered. Gravel made dampened noise as the soles of her feet caused friction between the two. She hated being this loud, but the DJPF were a long way off from the side they were on. They did not even think to go anywhere near the power lines and generators. There was a great chance that they'd never known this place existed.

Just as she reached for the doorknob of the little building, she heard a click. Someone had cocked his gun.

"Slowly lift your hands to where I can see them."

That was definitely not a good sign.

But the voice was oddly familiar. Keladry did as she was commanded. A million thoughts sped through her head. She could not decide what to do in her situation. So, she stood calmly with her hands raised to head level. The officer who had caught her was breathing loudly and anxiously. He was probably a rookie.

"Turn around. Keep your hands where they are."

She started with her foot, turning it three quarters out, then her body following. She kept her eyes focused on the ground, slightly afraid to face her fate though she wore her mask of impassivity. Keladry still couldn't believe that her guess was wrong and a rookie-sounding officer was taking her in. 

Ideas flew threw her head on ways to escape, but there was still a gun pointed at her head. When she finally looked up, she was greeted by the astonished face of—

"Owen?"

There was a brief moment of silence for which the two gaped at each other in disbelief. Kel noticed that her friend had changed. He was taller now, coming even closer to her already amazing 5'9 height. The curly brown hair she was so accustomed to seeing was a bit longer, and the curls straightening out. She could not imagine him without his curls. The facial structure was the same, but there were signs of maturing. The gray eyes remained constant to a fault. 

Finally, Owen lowered his gun. His hands were trembling. "Kel? Is that you? Really you?"

"What does it look like?" she replied back. She had intended a note of sarcasm, but it came out flat and monotonously because of her still shocked mind. Her sensibility wavered while his was already gone. Owen grinned and moved forward. He hugged her like she had died and risen from the grave.

"It's you! You're okay!" he cried. He started to laugh. Keladry returned the embrace, feeling the same sort of urge to laugh. Owen eventually released her and wiped his moist eyes. "Neal and I thought that the DJPF had gotten you by now. You know, since you returned to Tortall." There was a pause, and his expression became crestfallen. "I refused to believe that you were doing what everyone's been saying. It was tough sometimes, but I've known you longer than the media has."

"I know how hard it is to keep faith in persecuted innocence. Thank you." Keladry allowed herself to sigh though it felt incredibly weak and girlish of her to do so. She cleared her throat. "I suppose you want to know why all of this is happening." 

His eyes widened. He looked around them. Beads of sweat had already formed at his hairline. "Yeah, I do. But, is there anyplace where we can hide? If anyone sees you…"

She nodded. She turned around and opened the door. "This way," she whispered. "And bring my bag with you."

In the moment of their reunion, she had dropped her bag full of the weapons intended for her fellow companions and Thom. Now, they crept into the crumbling shack. Keladry opened up the manhole once more. Owen handed the bag to her, which she slung over her shoulder while descending into the dirt packed tunnels below.

"What are we going to do?" Owen asked in a whisper. "_Where_ are we going?"

"You'll see," she whispered back. The lights were dim so she was unable to see him roll his eyes and slump his shoulders as he followed her. Even though, she could sense his doubt. If she were Owen, she too would be skeptical of the situation. It would be a few more minutes before they reached their destination.

~~

Thom admitted them inside his lab. He didn't mind Owen at all and silently understood that he was on their side. The former top scientist of Tortall looked past them into the tunnel. He apprehensively addressed them. Something was wrong, Keladry could tell. "Did you run into the guys?"

"What? Aren't they here?" she asked. The scientist shook his head. While they were talking, Owen wandered around the lab area with an amazed expression on his face. The atrium was a wonder to him. How could plant life as extraordinary as that grow underground. At the same time, he marveled at the type of machines kept to the side. He ran his hands over the smooth surfaces of stainless steal and plastic. 

"They got so restless that they wanted to risk the secret network of tunnels into the new laboratory," he replied. He glanced over at the wide-eyed young officer from the corner of his eyes, a proud smile tugging at his lips.

Keladry felt a little pang of anger within her. She was going to have a long talk with Cleon when this was over. It was obvious that he was the leading force in this. He probably let his wild adventurous side get the best of him. Faleron had more sense, and Roald blindly trusted in both of them to do as they did. She closed her eyes and took a few breaths to calm herself. When she opened her eyes, she set herself to a course of action.

"Here. Take this," Keladry handed Thom one of the guns from her bag. "Owen and I will go up top and enter through there. I don't think we could catch up with the guys without getting lost."

"Are you sure you can make it through there?"

She nodded. "Last time, I surfaced pretty close to the mansion. I can get inside now that I have someone watching my back. Owen!"

The younger officer turned around from where he had been playing with Jump. The pooch growled deep in its throat, annoyed that attention was yet again stolen away from him. Owen jogged over to his friend. "Are we going to fight now?" His eyes lit up. "I've been waiting for a good brawl forever!"

"You're going to get more than that," she muttered with a hint of worry. "A whole lot more."

~~

"Okay, so, what's next on the map Thom gave us?" Faleron said while rubbing his temples. Why did he have such a terrible headache? And not to mention, his ankle was in a crude brace made by a few strips of cloth double bounded over the injured spot to keep it stiff and unmoved. 

Cleon blinked. "There was a map?"

The other two men groaned in misery.

"Don't tell me we're lost!" Roald exclaimed.

"I give up," Faleron half uttered, and sunk down to the floor of the tunnel on his butt. He held his head in his hands, grumbling to himself about their predicament. Cleon thought for a moment, then continued to rummage around in his vast number of pockets for anything. 

With a tiny squeak of triumph, he held up a scratchy, blurry piece of clear plastic that was the blueprints for the tunnels from Thom. The older man had warned them that a lot of things were bound to be different since they closed off the tunnels and divided up the 'university'.

"I got it!"

Roald quickly snatched it out of the redhead's hands, afraid that it would disappear like a magician's tool. "Oh, finally. So, where are we?"

The shortest of them, seated on the ground, held up his hand. Cleon took it and hauled his partner to his feet, careful of Faleron's ankle. Faleron took the map and examined it using one of the dying lights fixed in the tunnel walls. He looked around, scratched his chin, and traced the map with his finger.

"We're coming up to a chamber right now. It used to be some water gate checkpoint, but Thom scratched a lot out right here." He pointed to it, but lowered the map before they could peer at it. "Let's go."

The three young men wandered further down the tunnel, ignoring fake paths that branched off from it. As they walked, the tunnel changed. No longer was it earthen walls with wooden and metal supports. There became fewer dirt and more granite. Roald bent down and ran his palms against the slabs of concrete. "Hmm…" He shrugged at his friends and they continued forward.

Then they arrived at a room, about seven feet by twenty feet across. As they stepped through the iron-framed doorway, they gasped. It was entirely concrete, not eroded by years of moisture from the ground. They had been down there for so long, the three were accustomed to seeing dirt, yet none was found there except that their feet drudged in. Faleron could not understand how that was possible, but he found grooves in the top ceiling that were too tight together to allow water to drip through. He gestured to have the flashlight. Cleon handed it to him without a thought while crouching down to see if there were any footprints to be had.

"What's the purpose of this place?" Roald asked. He moved all the way down to the other end of the chamber, finally seeing the second door. It was something that reminded him of titanium steel, yet he reasoned that it was stupid and probably not. There was no handle, and no number pad for which a person might enter a password for the door to slide open. Was it even mechanically advanced like that?

Cleon agitated by the lack of activity they were having, walked back the way they came and searched for any more clues. He considered backtracking to the other paths that led off the main one, but he could not recall where they led. 

"Hey, Fal! Buddy, can I see the map?" he called loudly as he kicked up dirt jogging back toward the chamber. The toe of his right foot caught on something, and the next thing he knew-- he slammed into the ground face first.

A sliding metal door with but one tiny iron barred window sealed off the doorway. Faleron and Roald whirled around from where they stood. They gaped at the new door. 

Cleon held his breath in worry as he scrambled to his feet and ran toward the door. He gripped the iron bars hard and tugged. Nothing would budge. He tried sliding the door back either way. Nothing moved. The redhead frantically backed away. His mouth opened and shut, trying to say something. Shock was too strong.

There was an odd silence. And then Faleron gathered his wits.

"_What the hell did you do_?" he screamed. Both he and Roald ran toward the door separating them from Cleon.

"I didn't do anything! I just tripped on--" Cleon froze. He looked over his shoulder at the ground. The tunnel's lights did not reach it. "Quick! Hand me the flashlight through the bars." Roald took the flashlight from Faleron and squeezed it through the opening in the door. Cleon took it and aimed the beam of light downwards. A little stick, presumably a switch, stuck up partially from the dirt. "Uh…"

"I don't like the sound of that, Kennan."

Suddenly, there was a rumbling sound from overhead.

"And _I_ don't like _that_ sound," he replied with fear creeping up in his voice.

~~

He could picture himself stabbing the man in front of him repeatedly with anything-- anything sharp at all. It didn't have to be that either. He could grasp a blunt object in his hands and smash his object of despising repeatedly over the head. It didn't take much to please him. No, at that point, a huge plastic candy cane lawn ornament left over from Christmas celebrations would be fine. He was not a picky man at the moment, not at all.

"Stone."

Joren looked up at the older, stockier man addressing him. He let out an unnoticeable sigh and moved forward so he stood beside Roger Conté. He eyed the shotgun slung over the other man's shoulder distastefully as he fingered his two Desert Eagles in their holsters at his sides.

"What is it?"

"How much do you know about the Immortals? Don't pretend not to know anything. Thom must have told you plenty."

The blonde narrowed his eyes. He did not answer.

"I _said_ how much do you know?" Roger said through clenched teeth. His younger companion was annoying him, but not so much as his son, Vinson.

"Enough," Joren finally replied. He became satisfied with his response when Roger growled angrily and stalked forward through another hall. 

As they went through different wings of the mansion, hunting for Jonathan Conté by searching hidden passages that Roger mysteriously knew about, more questions were brought up. Roger asked, "What do you know about the Immortals then, and our plans of them?"

The other man smirked slightly. "Tasikhe wants to set them free, for they have been mistreated. Numbers of them have been mutilated, mutated, and killed. The government's scientists must be a bunch of idiots."

Roger laughed, lightening up his mood considerably. Joren was definitely better than his son was. It was refreshing to have someone with wit talk back to him. Thom merely listened and Vinson only provoked and received punishment. "Go on."

"Well," Joren started to get sarcastic, although what he said, he believed to be true. "The two of you masterminds say you want to set them free for the sake of the rights of the poor creatures." He paused and rolled his eyes. "But I say you do it to defy your perfect kinsman, Jonathan, while you remain the black sheep. And I say Ozorne does it for power, for now the Immortals are free, but in debt to him, and so under his command. Do the two of you _like_ power trips?"

"Yes, yes we do," Roger answered good-naturedly. To himself he thought, "Is this guy joking, or is that what he thinks? He's probably against us. I never trusted any of them anyway. Another man I can dispose of later, all too easily."

His pager sounded. The older man looked down at his wrist and received the message. Some guards had alerted Vinson in the security monitoring rooms that the supposedly abandoned tunnels to the underground labs had been opened, and the booby traps automatically triggered.

"Jonathan," he hissed. "It has to be him. Who else knows about them?" He nodded his head back towards the elevator. "Let's go. I'm going to have his head, if it's the last bloody thing I do."

~~

Alanna knocked on the metal door, yawning. She was dressed up in battle gear, despite the still healing wound on her thigh given to her from Faleron that time in Carthak. She muttered something to herself while looking down at her shoes. She hoped George wasn't going overboard in his spying venture as a 'hostage'. 

"George makes a terrible hostage," she said to herself, grinning. "I can only imagine what he's doing."

~~

He sneezed.

"Gesundheit, George," Thayet offered, although leaning away from him so as not to get sneezed on.

"Thank you, Thayet," he replied, sniffing. He glanced around. "It's quite dusty in here. Hey! You in charge! While you're standing here _doing nothing_ like the lazy oaf you are, have some of your men clean up the mess you've made! All those bullets fired in the plaster walls and ceiling caused so much dust!" He naturally looked as defiant and stubborn as humanly possible-- something his wife always scolded him about, although she couldn't love him as much without it.

Vinson separated from himself from Lalasa-- much to her relief-- and stomped over to him. "What the hell is wrong with you? You are the hostage! I am the hostage-taker!" He threw his hands up in the air. "Do you _want_ to die or something?"

George snorted. "Well, of course not. What kind of idiot are you to ask _that_ question?"

Thayet and Lalasa could hardly hold in their laughter, while Jonathan was already chuckling behind the two-way mirror. The president slowly backed away from the mirror though. He knew it would be useless to stay there the whole entire time. Just as he was about to leave to hide somewhere else, he heard a bit of conversation from one of Ozorne's men to Vinson.

"Tunnels… lab…"

Jonathan frowned. Were they talking about the lab underneath the estate? Had someone besides Ozorne already down there? He couldn't let them anywhere near the Immortals. There was no telling what they would do. That was that. Jonathan started creeping away silently through the secret passages in the wall, heading downwards to the lab. He prayed that he could get there in time and stop Ozorne from getting away with _his_ Immortals.

~~

The door opened hesitantly. Thom stepped back. "Alanna?"

"Hey, bro. What's up?" she casually asked as she leant forward and gave him a quick hug. He hugged back a little too late as she pulled away. He was still in the first stages of shock.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, his eyes wide. Alanna looked him over. His cheeks were flushed, and his beard a little messier than she last remembered when they went to his home in Carthak. She reached forward and smoothed his hair back, out of habit for watching out for him.

She smiled. "Why, I'm here to help with the Immortals. We're not letting Ozorne Tasikhe get them." Her expression darkened. "I can't even imagine what he'd do with them." She grabbed her brother's hand, while he held on to the weapon Keladry gave him, and pulled him after her.

~~

Keladry threw shoved away the lid of the manhole from her as she hauled herself up using her arms. She crawled onto the grass behind the shrubbery and held out a helping hand to the shorter man. Owen took it and pulled himself up beside her. He put the iron-plated lid back on and kicked some dirt over it. 

"It's quieting down," she commented absently.

There was a small explosion in the distance. Clumps of grass and debris flew through the air, pelting them with granules of dirt. Keladry shook her head, trying to shake it from her hair. Owen spit onto the ground, tasting it on his lips. They crept low to the ground while they approached the side of the mansion with its craters and damaged walls.

"Okay. I was wrong," she muttered. Owen broke into a smile. She peered over the hedges and the piece of stone table that belonged in the garden. There was men running back and forth, although most remained stationed by his or her posts, just resting rather than attacking. 

She adjusted the bag over her shoulder. "Watch my back. I'm going to make a break for the servant's entrance. It's unmanned as of now. I'll signal for you to follow when it's clear again."

He nodded. "Just go already."

After taking a deep breath, she dashed forward across the lawn. Keladry's heart was racing as she heard bullets bite into the ground where she had just stepped. Just once, right before she reached the closed sliding door, she looked over her shoulder. The firing had paused from her enemies when Owen fired back at them with his old-fashioned revolver. 

She nearly collided with the door when she reached it. She was in the open, an easy target. Anxiety overwhelmed her as she tried random passwords on the number pad. Just when she thought she a grenade overhead, the door opened and she fell in. Lalasa shrieked as she saw Vinson aim at her with his pistol. 

"Wait!" Keladry cried as she got up to her feet and braced herself between the doorway and the wall of the servant's entrance. She winced visibly as bullets buried themselves on the steps leading to the door. Vinson and Lalasa moved back, flattening against the wall as well. 

She called out the door to Owen, although she didn't know how she'd explain it to Vinson when he would ask. The dastardly man himself was glaring at Keladry with extreme hatred. 

"What's going on!" he bellowed, his hand tightening around Lalasa's wrist although it was not she who he was addressing. Keladry opened her mouth to speak, but Owen crashed into her as they barreled through the door. The two of them hit Vinson and all three fell to the floor. Lalasa jumped over them and hit the keypad that closed the door. When it slid into place, sealing them from outside, more rumbling was heard overhead. The whole structure trembled. Bits of ceiling plaster rained on them.

"DJPF!" Vinson growled as he tried to press the barrel of his pistol to Owen's head and squeeze the trigger. Keladry and Owen both wrestled with him, trying to pin him down. He was bigger than both of them were, but together they were able to restrain him.

"Lalasa! Do something!" Keladry ordered as she used most her body weight to keep the cursing man from escaping. She fumbled with her gun as she tried to hold him down at gunpoint like he had done to her. Owen sat on his legs, firm hold on his ankles. 

Lalasa tore off part of her duster and stuffed it into Vinson's mouth. She began tearing off random strips and twisted it, making it stronger twine. Together, the three tied him up and hauled him to a utility closet. He struggled and cursed, but his words were muffled and his arms bound to his sides. 

"What are you doing here?" Lalasa gasped as they finally shut the door on him. Thumping sounds were heard from the other side of the door. Keladry agitatedly pressed the button for the door to slide open. Before Vinson could shove his way out, she raised her weapon and trained it on him at point blank range.

She reached with her thumb and cocked the gun. The finalizing of her threat was enough for the bound man to stop squirming and hold his position. Keladry used her other hand to press the button again. The door closed, and she turned to face Lalasa.

"Where's your father?" she asked. Owen leaned against the wall to catch his breath.

Lalasa pointed down the hall. "He went to the lab, I think. He's taken the Council members Numair Salmalin and Daine Sarassri." She paused. "So, what's going on with everyone else?"

"Apparently, it's a race to the Immortals."

~~

Author: *sniff* _This_ time, I really, REALLY, tried to get the episode done early. *sniffs even louder* I TRIED SO HARD! I HATE MY ENGLISH TEACHER AND HER ENDLESS PROJECTS! I HATE BLOCK SCHEDULING! I HATE IT ALL! *starts bawling* and to top that off, this episode isn't even that _good_! I'll have to come back later on and edit this two weeks after its posted! WHY? OH, WHY?

[5 minutes later]

Okay. *takes deep breath* I'm okay now. I had to get that out of my system. I'd like to take a moment to answer a question someone threw at me. You see a lot of authors doing short stories or side stories to their long fics, but not I. Why not? I'd like to steal a concept presented in an HBO Artists' special (shut up, Legato. I can hear you laughing, you know…) I believe, by an actor portraying Monét. When the world has aged centuries hence, let them see your masterpieces, never your rough drafts. Destroy your flawed products, do not leave the public to find them and discover how bad you could be. Leave behind only the good memories, the better things… so that your name may be as legend.

It's a nice concept, right? Perfectionists raised me, so it's natural for me to like this. I'm sure not all of you agree-- that rough drafts need to be kept as a reminder of development, etc. But that's not for me. THIS is for me. Maybe I will have a few side stories in season number two, but not now. 

****

Also: A _lot_ of people have been asking me to crack down on plagiarism offenders because they want to defend me against copycats. (Fancy that. People want to protect my story. *shrug*) I appreciate and care for them all very much, but I don't want to. Seriously, because I do not want to be the bad guy, er, girl here… Isn't there some sort of patrol from ff.net that does that? *sigh* I really, really don't want to do this, but you people know who you are! Please modify your stories in any way possible that does not leave you in the plagiarism category. If you don't know if you are or if you need help doing this, talk to Legato Bluesummers ([Pickadilly101@aol.com][2]**). I trust _you_ to make the right decision. **

ADDED 3-17-01:

Ignore the message above, or feel free to rant to Legato-kun. He's just paranoid, but he tries to be sweet, really he does (even if he's an idiot. Yes, Lego, I hope you read this). But on a more serious note, I've been noticing that out-of-character stories (that are not in the Humor genre, where they are tolerated for the sakes of ridiculous, senseless laughter) are popping up like daisies. I honestly don't think that's a good thing, so I hope people become more conscious of this and correct themselves for the sake of dignity of borrowed characters.

Thank you for your reviews. I treasure every single one. I encourage all questions. I'll either answer by e-mail reply or like this, at the end of the story. My e-mail is at the beginning of the episode. *salute* Until next time, my friends…

   [1]: mailto:silverwLng@aol.com
   [2]: mailto:Pickadilly101@aol.com



	19. The Fall of Villains. The Fall of Good M...

It Could Be Worse

Episode 19: The Fall of Villains. The Fall of Good Men.

By Sulia Serafine

[Story started: 3-16-01. A Protector of the Small fanfic set in an alternate universe; all credit goes to Tamora Pierce. I'm broke, so you can't sue me.

Oh, one more thing: BAD LANGUAGE (I. E. cursing, swearing…). You have been warned!

E-mail me at [silverwLng@aol.com][1], okay?]

"Are we going to die?" Roald whispered. The other two men almost didn't hear him over the rumbling sound above. Their eyes were glued to the ceiling, waiting for whatever was to happen. The tension became so thick that Cleon would swear later on that it could have been cut with a knife. Sweat dotted the end of his nose. He tried to ignore it for the more importance of the thunderous noise, but the feel of that single drop became so distracting from their obviously serious situation that he finally wiped it on the back of his hand and made a face. 

And then another possibility occurred to him. It was nothing. They were all being paranoid for nothing. He would've blushed if he weren't already flushed from exertion. The tall sharpshooter ran a clammy hand through his tousled red hair. "Guys, it's nothing at all. Here, let me see if I can pull this lever back."

"You had better. I don't want to spend the rest of eternity in this place," Faleron muttered, though he held no malice in his voice yet. "Are you _sure_ there aren't any knobs on your side of the door? Anything?"

"I'm sure!" Cleon said in an irritated voice. "Ugh, it's starting to smell like rotten eggs in this musty place. You smell that?"

"Not really."

"Lucky you."

Roald, whose gaze had fixed on the ceiling, tugged anxiously on his friend's arm. Faleron turned to him. "Now what?"

"The ceiling… It's starting to get damp."

Faleron's eyes widened. His head jerked back to raise his eyes to where Roald was looking. Indeed, the ceiling was starting to look darker than it was before. These dark spots were only in the corners of the ceiling though. It glistened faintly from the flashlight that Cleon held on the other side. Faleron grabbed Roald's wrist, tapping the light on the pager. He then thrust Roald's arm toward the ceiling so he could have a better look.

"March that way, toward the other end and hold up the light," Faleron ordered. 

Roald did as he was told, gulping nervously. "What does this mean?"

"Cleon! How is the ceiling above _you_?" the former thief called.

"Completely dry. Damn it! I can't get this lever thing to budge!"

"Can't you try to shoot it at an angle or something?"

"I only have four rounds left. Do you think I'm going to waste them on this _stupid_ piece of metal sticking out of the floor?"

Faleron narrowed his eyes into slits. "If you don't--"

He didn't get a chance finish his sentence. Suddenly, the blocks of ceiling in the corners started to fall from their places. Each man held their collective breaths as the bits of dust and concrete started to crumble. And then, the blocks dropped down to the floor. There was a loud crashing sound as each hit the floor. They could feel the surface beneath them vibrate because of the strength of the blocks' fall. And then…

… The water came flooding in.

"Oh my God!" Roald cried as he got caught under a waterfall at the far end of the room. He stumbled out of the way, toward the center where Faleron had just gathered himself. The water came straight down in the four openings that were about a little less than two feet by two feet each. The cold crept around their ankles, soaking their shoes, socks, and pants legs. 

Faleron limped sluggishly toward the door again. His ankle still hurt, but he'd have to ignore it if he wanted to live. The water was coming down so fast; it already reached halfway up his calf. Roald was crying out random phrases of bewilderment, turning around and around in the middle. At the same time, he searched with his eyes to find the source for the water of each hole. He saw nothing past the most common liquid of nature.

"Kennan. Do something," Faleron shouted as if his friend truly had the power to make the scene go away.

"I'm trying!" the sharpshooter snapped back, not liking the pressure he was given.

"Guys!" Roald shouted with a squeak at the end of the word. The vice president's son shook his head. He cleared his throat and called again. The incessant sound of water rushing around him and splashing him as it poured down made it hard for him to be heard by them. 

Cleon now put his feet on each side of the lever. He crouched down, grabbed hold and braced himself for pulling. He gritted his teeth. "I can't get it to move!"

"Guys!" Roald yelled again. Faleron turned around to face him. There was a rare expression of anxiety present on the usually calm and collected face.

"We're working on it. Don't get hysterical!" In truth, he was telling himself not to become hysterical.

More cursing came from the dryer side of the door. "It's still not moving!"

Faleron started to shiver as the cold water level advanced to his waist. He grabbed onto the iron bars and yanked on them in desperation. He examined every little bit of the door's tiny window. His mind analyzed the situation within a split second. And it came to him. The room was only seven feet wide. The hole was not that far from the door. "Roald! Get over here!"

The vice president's son was pale as he approached. "Guys, I can't… I can't…"

"Can't what?" Faleron asked, not really caring what he had to say.

"I can't swim!" he blurted out. His hands skimmed the water that was now above his waist, soaking into his shirt. So much for dry cleaning, he thought. Mentally, he scolded himself and flung his attention at the flooding room.

The former thief couldn't believe his luck. He stared at the other young man for a moment, evaluating what he could do, and what could possibly happen. What was only two seconds afterward, he beckoned for him to come forward. He grabbed Roald's hands and folded them palm up one over the other. "Give me a boost. I'll put my other foot on the bars, and you hold me up by the other foot. I think I can grab the edge of that hole."

Cleon paused temporarily in his fruitless labor to listen in. "Are you crazy? You're only going to get soaked before the water even reaches your freaking shoulder!"

"Its already halfway up, Kennan. We're already soaked! Just do whatever you can," Faleron yelled back. This sparked a short period of yelling back and forth between the three men. Hysteria and panic was washing over them just like the mercilessness that rushed in from above. They were starting to get too annoyed with each other. The panic was killing their common sense. Roald held Faleron up while the lighter man used the barred window to his advantage. Pain shot through his ankle as he braced it against the door. His hands walked along the ceiling until they could brush against the pouring water.

"Move closer," he told Roald. His arm was already stretched out to the steady flow from above. "Damn, it's cold!"

"You're not the one still in the water!" the usually milder young man below retorted. 

Faleron took a deep breath as he gripped the edge of the hole. Water started to run down along his arm, chilling him as it touched him, then let the air touch his skin after, making him even colder. He shivered. Then he pursed his lips. One day in the future, he wanted to say that he could react well under pressure. The fact that he still felt horrible about that family in Scanra only intensified his want to be courageous.

"Higher!" he yelled. Roald lifted Faleron's foot onto his shoulder. He winced under his friend's weight as the shoe heel dug into his shoulder bones. The water was up to his chest. Some of it started to go out the door opening to Cleon's side. But the rate at which the water filled the room was greater than the opening. And no matter how fast the water went out, they would soon drown.

"Cleon! If you don't do anything right now, we are going _to die_!" he screamed. 

Faleron twisted his foot around, wrenching a cry of pain from his supporter.

"We are _not_ going to die! I refuse to die in this fucking place!" he screamed angrily at the top of his lungs. Roald immediately shut up. Not even Cleon remembered a time when his usually charismatic and clever friend had used such a tone. 

Clenching his teeth in determination still, Faleron pulled himself up by his arms into the hole. The flow of water drowned his head, making it almost impossible for him to twist away and breathe. His feet were practically dangling in the air since the frantic companion below was now holding a foot in each hand as he semi-supported him above his head.

Faleron held his breath. He couldn't do anything else. His grip on the edge of the hole was slipping. Why hadn't he been more attentive in Phys. Ed.? If he'd had the arm strength then, he could've pulled himself up by now and see if there was anything past the water.

Cleon now drew his gun, quickly calculating an aim at the lever for it to be thrown back. His chest heaved. This was so much worse than fighting in combat situations-- not that he'd even had much experience in those either.

"Oh, God," he groaned as he licked his chapped lips. 

He fired. The switch was thrown back, and he could hear the bullet ricochet off it. It embedded itself in a wall. For a moment, Cleon smiled. He proudly straightened his posture. Than, he realized nothing had happened. The doors remained where they were. "It didn't work! Fal! Roald!"

The former thief was so close. He could feel something as he held onto his position with one hand while groping blindly through the opposing force of the water with the other. And then-- he grasped it. It felt like a thin pipe. Whatever it was, his hand curled around it and held on for dear life. But that only held half his thoughts. The other half of his mind couldn't stop thinking of air. He wanted to open his mouth and breathe so badly. But then, the water would rush in, and down his throat, and he'd drown while hanging from the ceiling. 

Roald shouted up to him, hoping that he could hear him. But there was only a panicked kicking of Faleron's feet as he pulled himself up. Roald stood up on his tiptoes. The water level was up to his neck now, and he didn't like it one bit. He couldn't swim. They were really going to die. Images of bloated bodies floating in lakes he'd seen from horror movies covered the back of his mind where they would make their home until the day Roald learned how to swim.

Cleon, now wet from the overflow pouring in through the bars, screamed to his friends. All he could hear was rushing water, the clear liquid that brought life and death as well. He clung to the iron bars while the water splashed his chest as it made its way out in a steady fountain-like fashion.

It was air. That's all that Faleron knew as his head broke the surface of the water flow in what seemed like a huge air vent, except, it couldn't be-- for it ironically transported water. Pipes ran along the sides of this narrow passage. He crawled forward on his stomach with the rushing water up on his chin. There was something up ahead, some black box that seemed really important at his vantagepoint. Pipes ran from it, and there was a gauge in the upper left corner.

Absently, he wondered if Roald was still alive. The more water took up space; more air was constricted from the room. The other man could suffocate. That is, if it didn't already drown him. Faleron had to hurry. He stopped where he was and thought. He must be over Cleon's head at that time. Maybe if he could make enough noise…

The redhead in question looked up when he heard a thumping. He broke into relieved grin. "Fal! Is that you?"

His only response was more thumps that had no apparent pattern. How was he going to break that ceiling? Something moved in the corner of his eye. A hand stuck itself through the bars pleadingly and waved itself around. It was Roald. Even if Roald had wanted to stick his face in the opening, the exiting water blocked all of it. Cleon ran over and grasped his hand, assuring the other that he was here. There was no doubt now that Roald could very well be holding his breath. 

So, the Tortallian sharpshooter did the only thing he could think of. He took aim with his free hand and began firing bullets into the ceiling.

Everything happened at once. The doors opened. Cleon lost hold of Roald as the door slid away, and the water from the other chamber now flooded both to him and through the other side of the death trap. The ceiling above Cleon started to crumble as a short circuiting black box fell to the ground, shooting out its last sparks. And then, more of the once sturdy ceiling gave way, and Faleron came crashing from above. He landed on Cleon, sending both of them to the floor where the water swept over them, and pushed them back as it emptied out of the chamber.

Roald gagged and choked. He spat up water and sucked in precious air while letting the flow take him out the room toward his friends. The three clung to the walls in exhaustion to keep from being washed away The panted hard. The water started to spread thin. It came down to their knees. 

"I knew Thom said the tunnels had a security system, but this is downright ridiculous," Cleon huffed as he shook his head vigorously. Droplets flew from his wet red hair and splattered his companions. 

"I thought I was going to die," Roald confessed quietly, ashamed that he'd been so scared. He knew that they would never hold it against him, but it did not erase his thoughts about it.

Faleron nodded, knowing the feeling. "It's okay." He looked past them, through the water chamber, and through the now open door on the far side. "We've got to keep moving. I wonder where the other door leads to."

A loud sound started up again, to their left where they had come from. They exchanged glances. Each one was too nervous to say aloud what they all were thinking in their heads that exact moment. And then, they started to run. It was an awkward sprint through the water death trap since it was still relatively high. Like little children, they disgracefully splashed around in their fleeing. The wet clothes weighed them down despite their efforts. Personally, Roald's limbs felt like lead. They had to get to the other door before it was too late.

Water started to rush down the tunnel as a lethal force threatening to kill them. Cleon, at the back of the line, looked over his shoulder. All he could see was white foam and all he could hear was the sound of his impending doom. It filled the whole tunnel, coming rapidly at them with a mind of its own.

"What is this? An Indiana Jones movie? _Damn it_!" he shouted at the top of his lungs just as the water overtook them. They were sucked into the moving current. It threw them through the other door, not caring for when one of them smacked into the floor or the wall. They struggled to breathe. Their heads barely broke the surface to taste the air they craved, and then they were taken back into the flowing force again.

This went on forever. Roald had swallowed a lot, and his chest hurt. Faleron angrily thrashed around when he hit the wall, trying to push off of it with his hands. Cleon made a short try at kicking with his legs to propel him up to the surface. But to no avail, he only reached it once, and then he was shoved back down.

The tunnel ended. The three were flung out into open air for a few split seconds of zero gravity before they plummeted down like rocks toward the pool of water that waited below. Cleon flailed his arms and legs wildly, as if he wanted to fly. Faleron braced himself with his arms over his head while Roald shut his eyes tightly and coughed in mid air from the water going down his windpipe.

Then they dropped into the pool. A huge splash reached halfway up their falling path. Faleron recovered first. He darted forward underwater. True, his injured ankle limited his swimming, but he could make it if he tried. His strength was focused upon his arms again. He knew Roald could not swim and had to find him before it was too late. Cautiously, he blinked open his eyes, hating the strange sensation on the surface of his that it always left him. He spotted Roald, tiny bubbles of air escaping his mouth as he moved in a scared sea dance. He swam over and looped one arm around Roald's chest, holding the other man to him like he'd seen in those sea-rescue movies, and started to surface.

Cleon did not know that Roald's drowning had been averted. His blurry vision scoured the waters' depths for any human-like form. All he could see was aqua blue-- an endless world of aqua blue. Where did that light come from? The water glowed as if it were lit from below. That was impossible. It had to be his mind playing tricks. The lack of oxygen was making him crazy. He was about to go up when he saw a shadow of something move. He swam forward though his limbs ached and his lungs burned. 

He approached even closer and closer. It _had_ to be one of his friends.

As he came within five feet of the shadow, he saw it clear for what it was. _It_ was a female humanoid creature with seemingly sleek light blue skin and fins all around her body. They were on her limbs, on her neck, at the side of her head. Gill slits were each on one side of her body where her ribs should have shown through if she were skinny enough. She had no hair, but freckles across her skin, covering her head where her hair should have been. The creature's eyes were a distinct gold that gave off its own light. His first reaction was his hoping it was female, whatever it was. Female creatures were generally more docile, weren't they? And then his second reaction--

He screamed, all the air escaping his mouth in large bubbles. Before water could enter his mouth and force its way into his lungs, he clamped his mouth shut. The scared-out-of-his-mind redhead made a rushed swim for the surface. He could see it not too far up. His hair drifted over his eyes, but he kept swimming straight up until he got to air.

Precious oxygen was inhaled into his deprived lungs as he took his first few breaths. Faleron and Roald were floating at the edge of the pool, relieved to see him finally. They meant to talk to him, but Cleon's next action sent silence between them.

"_HOLY SHIT! What the hell was that thing down there_?"

The water cascading down from the tunnel's opening above twenty feet was the only sound at all. In that time, they respectively stared at each other in complete perplexity and shock.

"What… what thing?" Faleron asked. He let Roald climb out onto the rock perimeter of the pool. The place they had landed in was a forest underground. Except, there was painted concrete ceiling, and walls he could see in the distance. There was artificial sunlight in the distance, casting shadows from the tall trees. It was a fake park of some sort-- or a habitat.

"Habitat," he let the word echo aloud. "Th-thing… underwater?"

Ten feet away from Cleon, the female looking creature with her human shape but odd appearance emerged. She treaded water effortlessly, as it came natural to her. A series of high-pitched squeaks and whistles came from her. She sounded like a dolphin.

"H-help," Cleon shrieked. His eyes were wide with fear. "Oh, my God! Help!"

The blue finned thing ducked down into the water, frightened of his cries. The redhead swam for the edge of the pool, making a mess of it. Faleron bent down to offer a helping hand. Cleon took it and pulled himself up. 

"Did you see it? What the hell! Oh my--"

"Calm down," Faleron said, raising his voice so it was louder than Cleon's voice. "She's more scared of you than you of are her." He paused. "I _think_ that's how the saying goes."

Cleon ran a hand through his messy hair, letting himself drip all over his friends while he gawked at the humanoid creature floating at the far end observing them with her wide gold eyes-- not just the irises, but her entire eyes.

Roald's mouth formed a little O. "Is that an Immortal?"

"What else could it be?" Faleron replied. Their voices were reduced to awed whispers.

"She's actually kind of pretty," Cleon said after a few moments, when the initial surprise had worn off. The three young men huddled together, talking in hushed murmurs about the creature in the water. They gaped at everything around them. It was like one of those fake forests inside a museum, except this one…

"This place could house other Immortals," Faleron suggested. He stepped off the rocky ledge surrounding the artificial pool. "We have to find a way out of here."

As they stepped further away from the water, more aqua creatures surfaced, accompanying the first female one. They all floated just so their noses and eyes were visible. Together, the strange but beautiful beings stared at the three men with piercing, curious eyes. One of them, a male, came up a little closer and started making a sound that resembled a barking seal. There was a golden crest upon his head that was not upon the others.

"Er, I think he wants us to scram," Cleon said. The others nodded. They quickly made their way into the forest with Faleron limping along with the aide of Cleon, leaving the sea people behind.

~~

Jonathan slid through the narrow passageway. He sucked in his stomach and thought distractedly, "I must have gained some weight since I last went through _here_." He let out a deep breath when he made it through the juncture and reached down to open the sealed door on the floor that went down into the lab. He couldn't risk going through the main entrance. Ozorne probably had that covered.

Ozorne. 

"That guy is really, _really_ asking for it," he muttered, surprising himself with his biased attitude. He'd never really met Ozorne Tasikhe in person, but from what he'd heard, he wouldn't like him. And that actually suited Jonathan fine. He was growing a little too stressed for diplomacy-- what with the attack on his home and the center of the government. 

He climbed down the entrance, one foot on each rung of the ladder. As soon as he was completely in, he reached up and closed the door. Then he went further down into the darkness.

After exactly thirty seconds of descending, Jonathan heard noises. They sounded like a combination of many things. Monkeys or a chimp screeching their uncomfortable status… horses neighing and snorting… birds squawking angrily. The noise hurt his ears, but he continued down until he reached the far corner of the proper lab. 

The large underground laboratory was lined with different strange equipment. Cages, large and small, were stacked everywhere, hanging from the ceiling or one atop the other in the corner. In the center was a six feet by six feet counter with a movable light fixture above it. There were hoses and pipes running to and from different parts of the room. Random tools were scattered about, as well as files of plastic sheets, containing information. 

His group of scientists was knocked unconscious, tied up or thrown into cages. Some were bleeding from the head, bludgeoned by some terrible object, no doubt the butts of rifles. Their once immaculate white lab coats were soiled. Glasses of a few were cracked and broken. Among these men and women, he saw Numair and Daine both knocked out cold and bound hand and foot with handcuffs and rope.

"I can't believe this," he thought to himself. The poor men were suffering.

The only conscious man was not another scientist. He was Ozorne Tasikhe, sitting at a computer beside a cage with a large bird in it. It was a waterfowl, a pelican to be exact. Its beak was black, and its eyes were red. The wings were longer than usual, and there were metallic parts surrounding the bird's neck.

It was not an unusual appearance for the animal. The parts around its neck actually helped it-- although Jonathan forgot at that moment exactly why. His concentration was on what Ozorne was doing to it. As the rebel leader typed, the blinking light around the pelican's neck was blinking even faster, than slower.

"He doesn't know what he's doing!" he thought furiously. Forgetting where he was, he leaned forward a bit more to see what else was going on.

Ozorne froze. He turned away from the computer, swirling around in the office chair. His lips curled into a thin smile. He pressed the buttons on the cage. The door swung open and the pelican gratefully flew out. He started opening random cages, with all the animals scrambling out to run free in the lab.

The president couldn't believe what was happening. Then he saw it. Ozorne held up his shotgun. He aimed above Jonathan's head (could he _see_ Jonathan?) and fired a shot. Plaster and bits of concrete rained down onto the floor in front of him. He gasped, and fell backwards onto his butt.

"Haha! Ah, Mr. President. Had a good day?"

"Not really," he replied, glaring at him.

"Hmm… Well, I'm having a wonderful day. Too bad you won't get to see the end of it." He raised his shotgun and aimed straight at Jonathan's head. This was it. The good guy was going to lose to the bad guy. The unarmed man against the power-hungry beast. In his opinion, it could not get any worse. 

He was about to meet his death when so many things were left undone. His wife and he were childless. His treaties across the ocean were not finished. Those city improvements in the Carthakian slums that he'd so looked forward to-- never to be started. Who would be elected after him? Would anyone be elected at all or would Ozorne run the show?

His mouth became dry, and his throat parched. 

"Any last words?"

Jonathan blinked, sweat running between his shoulder blades where he couldn't reach. "Yeah."

"And what's that?"

"Behind you."

Ozorne paused a moment before bursting into laughter. "Nice one! You can't fool me, you dumb son of a b--"

His words were halted when a sharp blade had pierced his back and protruded through to his chest. The dark skinned man looked down in disbelief at the long bloody knife--more like a short sword-- that stuck through him like a chicken on a rack. He gurgled up dark blood, letting it sloppily drip down his chin before his knees buckled beneath him and he fell dead.

Jonathan held his breath. The shotgun was not that far away from his hand. He could pry it from Ozorne's still warm fingers, but the corpse horrified him beyond description. 

The slayer of the infamous rebel leader stood unfazed behind the corpse. The person casually yanked the knife from Ozorne's back and wiped it clean on the back of the shirt where blood had yet to soak into. Then this mysterious figure tucked it into a sheath in their jacket away from sight and picked up the shotgun, shaking it out of the corpse's death grasp.

"Are you injured?"

He numbly shook his head. It was not one of his most articulate moments.

"Good." Then the person jerked their head toward the main entrance to the lab. Narrowing their eyes in annoyance and irritation, they dashed out the other way toward the Immortal habitats. 

The black beaked pelican landed in front of Jonathan and started squawking loudly at him, poking him in the chest. He did his best to ignore it, wondering what caused his rescuer to flee.

"Jon! It's us!" Alanna shouted as she and Thom skidded into the room. They first grinned when they saw him alive and well. When Ozorne's body came into few, grim attitudes conquered them. His advisor spoke again first. "So, he's dead. I guess that brings this whole disaster to its end."

He wobbly got to his feet, pointing an accusing finger at her. "You did _not_ tell me that George brought in K. J.! You're supposed to tell me these things!" 

"Please, calm down, sir. Have a seat," Thom soothed as he went to bring over the office chair Ozorne had been sitting on minutes ago. A green furred monkey with an extremely long tail that was encircled with metal rings at different intervals squatted on the chair. Thom thought for a moment, then reached into his pocket for one of Jump's snacks that he kept with him always. The animal sniffed it suspiciously before snatching it and bounding away, screeching still.

Thom wheeled over the chair. Jonathan stared at the scientist in profound wonder. "And when did _you_ get here?"

"Roger brought him," Alanna answered in place of her brother. 

"R-roger?" Jonathan croaked. "My cousin's here?" His face turned sickly pale, despite his tanned skin.

The animals, not liking being ignored, started to throw things at them. The birds made vicious sounds while flapping their wings. The felines hissed and the canines barked. The three conscious humans backed into a corner. Alanna got her stun gun from her belt and set it onto the lowest setting. "Thom! What's going on?"

The Wizard searched his mind for the reason. "It's… it's the hormone imbalance! Common, less evolved Immortals have naturally violent or hurtful behavior that is dulled when we correct their hormone imbalances. Ozorne must have messed with the chemical regulators before we got down here."

Alanna took her brother's jacket from him and waved it around, hoping to ward away the animals. The last thing she wanted to do was harm them. The government had spent so much time on them. Everything would go to waste if she hurt them now. It was especially hard at that time to keep a cool head when they were being such pains.

"Isn't there anything we can do?"

He was about to reply when he tripped on something while backing up. It was a cage door that lowered like a drawbridge. He tumbled inside the large metal barred cage where one of the lager primates Immortals had been kept. Alanna went in to help him up, but Jonathan wisely stayed out. 

And then, the black beaked pelican squawked and hit the button on the computer that controlled the cages. The cage door beneath him lifted up and threw him onto the floor as he cried out. The bird flew over and pecked at them through the bars tauntingly before flying out the exit to the higher level Immortals' habitats. Soon, the rest followed, leaving three of the most powerful people in Tortall locked in the lab.

"Now I _know_ George will never let me live _this_ down," Alanna muttered.

~~

Elsewhere, at the same time that Ozorne discovered Jonathan, three people had trekked down a dark path.

"Just how many secret passages _are_ there in this stupid place?" Lalasa breathed. 

"Dozens. Tens of dozens probably," Owen answered, a little impressed himself. They followed Keladry down the narrow, low ceiling tunnel. It was quiet except for the shuffling of their feet. And it was also dark except for the light from Kel and Owen's pagers, which weren't all that bright anyway.

They went along for another ten minutes when Keladry met with a solid wall. "A dead end?"

"It can't be! After this whole time, we've got nowhere to go?" Lalasa growled. "Come on! There has to be some… some secret panel. Feel the walls. Maybe there is a switch or a button."

The three explored the walls with their fingers, touching every crevice and nook there was to be had. Owen got on hands and knees inspecting the dirt packed floor to no avail. They found nothing. And so, they lingered around in the space, disappointed in all their efforts. 

"It's not fair!" Owen said in a sudden burst of immaturity. He stomped his foot down. He felt something give way beneath him. He gulped. "K-kel…"

Before they could react, the dirt beneath gave way. They heard wooden floorboards snap as they slid into a twisting metal chute. Lalasa screamed at the top of her longs while the other two came close to matching her deafening cries. She was in front, a blur of light and darkness going past her as they slid further and further down on their backs. 

"AH!" she screamed again, after taking a breath. "Kel! Help!"

Her backside burned from the friction and each of the little divisions between chute sections that were speed bumps to her tailbone. She was twisted onto her side when the slick chute turned sharply. For a brief nanosecond, she had the urge to throw her arms up over her head and say "whee!" but it just wasn't appropriate. 

It was definitely not a water slide. Or, rather, maybe the water came later…

"Oh help me!" she screamed, tilting her head back a moment to see Owen's boot-clad feet a few yards up. There was a sudden dip that caused her head to jerk back in whiplash, and then bang on the metal. She shut her eyes tightly and bit her lip to stifle any more shrieks she may emit. 

Then she was flung into the air for a brief two seconds before hitting the ground and rolling down an artificial slope of dirt. She curled up into a ball, hoping not to break any bones. As the slope evened out, her speed did not and she crashed into someone and tackled him or her to the ground as well. Lalasa blinked open her eyes. A familiar face looked bewildered at her as she sat up.

"Roald!" all her ailments were forgotten as she embraced him and hugged him tight. Roald, still reeling from the impact, just let her latch onto him while he cleared his spinning head. 

"Ugh… La…Lalasa? What the…"

"Watch out!" Owen and Keladry both shouted as they flew out of the hidden chute at a faster velocity than Lalasa had and flew down half the slope before hitting the ground at the bottom and colliding with Cleon. He never had a chance. The redhead was bulldozed down. Both persons landed on him.

Keladry groaned. She grabbed the sides of her head. Unfortunately, she could not roll off whomever she was on top of because in fact, she was pinned between two people. "Owen! Get off!"

"Both of you get off!" Cleon demanded. "You're crushing me! I can't move!"

The curly haired DJPF officer scrambled off of them. He helped Keladry up, who turned to help Cleon up. He waved her off and stood up by himself, although he gingerly touched the base of his back in obvious discomfort. 

"Where the hell did you three come from?" Faleron asked, having successfully avoided being trampled to the ground by them. He walked up so he was face to face with Keladry. Behind him, Cleon was complaining about how the dirt stuck to his wet clothing. But Roald complained none as he still held Lalasa in his arms.

"Don't ask," Keladry mumbled grouchily, noting a slight limp from the former thief. She remembered her self training and put on an impassive mask to show she wasn't bothered, which really did not help since they'd all heard her attitude before. She sighed. "Owen, do you have the bag?"

"Right here," he said proudly and held it up. Cleon and Faleron dove towards it first, grabbing the first objects that they touched and tucking them into their belts. Cleon took a smaller knife and slid it into the side of his boot. Each of their faces had lit up considerably. 

Lalasa rolled her eyes. "Boys will be boys."

"So what's happening with Ozorne and Roger?" Faleron asked as he put some extra magazines in his pocket. 

"Ozorne was in the main part of the lab, last I heard," Lalasa answered. "That was before we shoved tied up Vinson and threw him in the closet, I think."

Cleon frowned. "So he's already reached the Immortals? We have to find a way out of here!"

Keladry froze. Her intuition told her someone was watching them. She held up her hand to silence the chatter. She beckoned for the sharpshooter to approach her. She whispered something in Cleon's ear, glancing warily at the trees that surrounded them. He nodded.

"What's wrong?" Roald asked in a stage whisper.

"Shh," she held up a finger to her lips. Everyone stood still, merely listening to the environment around.

Quicker than a flash of lightning, Cleon drew his gun and fired up at a tree branch. He hit his mark without fail and the branch dropped to the ground, destroying the cover for the spy that had watched them. The latter of them held in their breaths as the shadow stepped forward.

It was revealed to be a woman. She had brown black hair and creamy skin that was just so familiar…

"The acrobat! The one with the big…" he froze. "Er, eyes."

She was now dressed in all black, pants and jacket. Her hair was tied back and covered with a gaudy knit cap while her hands were covered with gloves. She casually held a shotgun against one shoulder. A bag strap crossed her chest, and the bag itself hung on her back. A loose belt fell to her hips where bungee cord and other random tools were clipped. 

"Ah, the guy who was staring at my chest," she replied in a voice that was not like the leotard girl of before. In fact, her voice seemed full of mocking insult.

Owen, Keladry, and Lalasa looked back and forth between the two. Keladry stepped in between them. "You know each other?"

"You were posing as one of those girls!" Cleon exclaimed. 

"Ah. So he has a brain after all," she said with a yawn. Her devious smile reminded him of the Cheshire cat in Alice In Wonderland, playing with his head.

Roald couldn't help but feel some similarity between himself and the newcomer. Not in behavior, but maybe appearance. He reached up and felt his own nose, his own cheekbones. No, it was crazy. He didn't even know her name.

"Who are you?" Keladry asked in a suspicious tone.

"Those who know my existence do not speak my name. They go by initials," the woman said with an air of dangerous superiority. "Those who _live_ anyhow."

"And those would be…?"

"If you must know, K.J. If I'm not mistaken, you are," she pulled back her sleeve to reveal a pager on her wrist. Except this one was crafted different from theirs. It was thinner and covered the length of her forearm like an arm guard. "Ah, yes. Keladry Mindelan and Cleon Kennan, former DJPF officers of Tortall, District B. Wanted for the kidnapping of," she turned to Roald, "Roald Jasson, son of Vice President Jasson. Mindelan and Kennan are also now standing accused of working for Ozorne Tasikhe. Which brings me to…" She took a step to face Lalasa. "Lalasa Isran, daughter of Ozorne Tasikhe, the rebel leader. If found, to be apprehended for questioning." She caught her breath. Her eyes finally rested on Faleron. "Faleron King, wanted overseas in Scanra for the supposed murder of the Gower family numbering three people, plus one burglar, suspected to be King's partner. Oh, and the longtime theft in Rogue's Bay."

She frowned when she saw Owen. "Owen Jesslaw, a current DJPF officer about to be demoted… definitely now to be discharged for being found among all these criminals. Ah, this ought to bring in a sizable bounty."

Cleon was turning red with anger. "Who the fuck are you?"

"K.J.," she answered. "I already told you that."

Keladry aimed her gun at K.J. 's head. "I think you should leave."

The black clad woman smiled. "Oh, but who else will show you the way out of this confusing place? I'm sure you don't know what Immortals to avoid or which will aid you."

"And you do?" Faleron sarcastically asked.

"Why, yes."

He folded his arms. "We can find our own way out."

She laughed derisively before turning her back and walking away. She called over her shoulders. "Then _do_ be careful of the spidren enclosure. Oh! And keep the ladies away from the Minotaurs and savage unicorns, you hear? I think they're on the loose. And heaven _forbid_ you should run into a Coldfang!"

They all exchanged glances with each other, not sure of what to do. And then, Cleon decided for them.

"Hey! Miss! We're sorry! Please, wait up!" he shouted and ran after her. "I promise I won't stare at your chest! That was totally wrong of me! I apologize, really, I do!"

~~

Alanna shushed her brother. "I think I hear something." She held out her guns through the metal bars. "Here! Jon, take these. You'll need them. I can't fight in here and you can't figure out how to unlock the cage."

He nodded and accepted the weapons. 

"Go hide," Thom instructed. He thought for a moment. "Let's pretend to be unconscious. Just until we find out who's entering."

She nodded. They lied down on the bottom of the cage in cramped positions while the main doors opened from a descending staircase. Roger and Joren entered. Neither walked very close to the other. There was actually a cloud of contempt that hung over them.

"Ah. So the President's advisor is here," Roger snickered, eyeing her prone form. His smile disappeared. "Thom? What is he doing in there? That stupid fool; I bet he switched sides-- that ingrate!" He turned to face Joren. "Well, don't just stand there. Come here and kill him. I'm not going to waste my own bullets on him."

Joren reluctantly came forward, but as he did, Ozorne's body came into his range of vision. "Tasikhe?"

Roger shoved past him to see. His lips were pursed, and his brows furrowed. "Who did this?"

The black sheep of the Conté family approached the cage that Alanna and Thom were trapped in. He rudely started kicking and shouting at the cage, rousing the twins from their fake sleep. Both put on a decent, believable act for him to believe. He cared none, and immediately got to the point. 

"Who did this? And who put you in there?"

Alanna glared at him defiantly and spoke nothing. Thom sheepishly looked away, afraid that his eyes would reveal the truth to him.

"I did."

Roger and Joren spun around. Jonathan boldly pointed a gun at Roger with both hands. His face was set serious, but his trembling hands translated into something weaker. The twins inside the cage grasped the metal bars and leaned into them until their noses were the only things peeking out.

"Idiot," Alanna whispered. "He's the president, not the DJPF!"

Thom nodded. "He's done for."

Joren watched Roger more than he did Jonathan. He knew the President had limited training in firearms. The jealous cousin was a completely different story. But the blonde had not seen many of Roger's skills as of yet. He could not guess nor read his opponent's course of action. 

And besides, he didn't believe for a second that Jonathan Conté killed Ozorne Tasikhe.

"He's mine, Father!" Vinson yelled as he came down the stairs, shooting at Jonathan crazily. Jonathan cried out in pain when a bullet skimmed the side of his head. He fell to the floor, in a daze, pressing his palm against the wound to keep from bleeding.

The reaction was instant. Joren sprung forward with one arm outstretched, aiming for his target. Vinson stepped onto the lab floor with the wrong foot, turning one way instead of the other. Roger kept back out of range watching the spectacle in front of him with enraptured attention.

Joren fired off three rounds. One of which struck Vinson's ankle, while the other two hit their mark true-- one in the stomach, and the other in the chest. Vinson tottered on his feet for a moment. His face contorted in rage, then torture as he fell to the ground like a falling tree. Blood pooled onto the floor. The body went through tiny spasms as it died. It was then that Joren noticed that there were red marks on his wrists as if he had been tied up very tightly. He brushed the thought away from his mind and concentrated on they dying man.

He'd taken lives. This was nothing new. So why did it feel so different?

"He…" Alanna shook her head slowly, staring at Vinson's body. She started to focus upon Joren, wondering how a youthful person as himself could do it so smoothly. She'd always avoided killing when she had to. This man… "That man, no, he's a boy… barely adult," she whispered to herself. She tugged on her brother's arm like she did when they were children. "Did you see that?"

He nodded. An odd silence hung about the whole entire laboratory. Smoke wafted up from the barrel of Joren's gun as he lowered his arm to his side. As an afterthought, he raised it to his lips, blew off the smoke, and holstered it again. Then he turned to his victim's father, no emotion on his face.

How could a person be so remorseless? The question dominated Jonathan's thoughts as he gazed eight feet away on the floor to meet Vinson's glassy, placid eyes. He shuddered inwardly. So the blonde man had saved his life. He had taken another to do it, and that seemed so wrong, and yet, what else could have been done? "You, what is your name?" he said with a cracked voice. "Who…"

The crimson blood spread out on the plain white tile floor. It felt surreal, like this was a movie. A director would come down the stairs through the main doors any minute then and command Vinson to get up and redo the scene. Or, he would command Joren to have some more heart and not shoot him the next time.

There were no second chances. One roll of film. Whatever they did went onto the screen. That was the final cut.

Roger did nothing. He cocked his head to one side, to meet his son's lifeless eyes. There was no sense of loss for him. Anger never appeared, although he thought it would. That was every parent's reaction, wasn't it? But Vinson had not been the best of sons, nor Roger the best of fathers. So there was not any fury within the deadly mastermind to unleash upon Joren. Ironically, only one thought came to his mind. And it wasn't even that compassionate.

"The brat borrowed my shirt without telling me."

Heads turned away from the fallen man to his father. They could not fathom the depth of Roger's heartlessness.

"For goodness' sake," Thom mumbled, a hand covering his mouth as he shut his eyes tightly. "Roger… your son…"

"Oh, shut up, Thom. You disliked him as much as I did," Roger snapped. 

"Roger!" Thom yelled, suddenly finding the courage to stand up to his supposed 'friend'.

Roger turned and glared so hard at the scientist that he backed down, lowering his gaze to his lap. Courage fled. He then faced Joren. "And _you_. I don't know what to say to you." He paused and laughed. "You made such a mess."

The blonde turned his back on him at once. Joren threw up his mental barriers very quickly, but this man knew the weak spots. His stance faltered imperceptibly. The stocky older man was perhaps the only one who could tell. It was not that Joren enjoyed killing. It was his job to do whatever it took to ensure the most safety to all or the majority. The threat was to be eliminated without question.

Ethics and morals were strict, yes, but Joren's sense of duty was even more so. He protected the president. Just like a bodyguard, he terminated the distinct threat to Jonathan Conté and recovered as quickly as possible. Now, he just had to decide whether he would still play on Roger's side or Jonathan's. People died every day. There was no use fighting that. 

Vinson Genlith allowed himself to be influenced by his father. He chose his path. What happened after were not anyone's fault but his own. Whether or not he would be buried or cremated was not Joren's concern. And it definitely would not be any of Joren's concern if he were mourned or not. Who would grieve? The mother that sent him to Roger?

Joren closed his eyes and cleared his mind. This was not his first kill. And it would probably not be his last. It was done in defense, and not cold blood. Anyone who said any different would be a liar. The only reason this felt different was because Roger was there. Roger, who probably did not care…? Joren let out a deep breath and opened his eyes.

And then he was shot.

He looked down at his belly where blood poured out a little bit off to the right. Perhaps near his liver. It was so dark, his blood. And some of it splattered on the floor. This was a little lighter red. No matter-- he could feel the pain instantly, starting at his wound and spreading across his torso like wildfire.

Fire. Nothing could hurt worse than being burned alive, no; this was nothing like his childhood. The pain was nowhere near as agonizing. And besides, he'd been shot before.

He fell to the floor. His mind was wide-awake, alert of the world around him. But his body could never match that. His breathing slowed. His hearing dulled. He could hear Jonathan and Alanna call to him, and Thom curling up away in the corner of the cage, starting to hyperventilate in fear of his fate.

This could not be death. It could not possibly feel like this. Wasn't it supposed to be dramatic and agonizing? Yet, he found a severe serenity that would not leave him. The peacefulness was overwhelming. It filled his entire head, made him feel light. It was the exact opposite. It was setting him free.

The tile was cold. That stood out as one of the main sensations besides the dull throbbing of his belly. The pain was only second to everything else. Why, he could not figure out. The tile cooled his warm cheek. But his hands were already cold, even in their gloves. His breathing was shallow. The beating of his heart was becoming faint. Why was his vision getting so dim? And why wasn't it bothering him? Ah, that was right. He'd already accepted death when he left Galla. Wherever he went, he would accept any death, as long as it suited him. 

He summoned all his strength to lift his head and squint.

Roger stood above him, smiling. So the man did care enough for Vinson to take revenge. Joren's head dropped exhaustedly back onto the floor. The last conscious thought he had was the shock that he'd let someone get the best of him.

"Oh, God," Jonathan whispered, still clutching the side of his head while on the floor. Blood trickled past his eyebrow and into his eye. He blinked it away and started to sit up. "Roger! Cousin!"

"Don't 'cousin' me, Jon," the older man threatened. He turned Joren onto his back while he left his son where he was. The blonde had yet to die. Or perhaps he was already dead. Roger did not care. He held him under the arms and started dragging him toward the entrance to the habitats. 

Alanna stood up, gripping the cage bars even tighter. "Where the hell do you think you're going? When I get out of here, I'll make you wish you'd never been born!"

Roger stopped where he was, almost grinning. "You're not the only one, Miss Trebond." He called over to her brother. "And Thom, good friend, I thank you for telling me about the Immortals' genetic structure and all that wonderful knowledge. I think I've got a good experiment in mind to make the greatest army this universe has ever known…"

"Army… That's what this was?" Jonathan cried, getting to his feet. "You and Ozorne wanted to use them for an army!"

"Why, didn't you?" Roger pouted insultingly.

"Son of a bitch," he swore. He grabbed the dropped Desert Eagle that belonged to Joren and was about to fire it at his cousin, when Roger beat him to it and squeezed off two bullets-- one that hit the President in the thigh and the other in the shin of that same leg. Jonathan fell to the floor with a thud, writhing in pain. His advisor spoke to him, telling him to calm down and bear the pain while clenching the bars even tighter so her knuckles were white.

Thom stared moist eyed at the retreating form of the man dragging the blonde into the forest greens. He shook his head regrettably and looked up at his sister. "It's hopeless, Al. Who can help us now?"

~~

Author's notes:

Hmm… Cliffhanger again? I imagine there is a good number of you folks who want to shoot me. But, we're coming up to the end. Twenty-one episodes, and that's the end of Season 1. I'd love to hear what you thought of this episode, and the one before it, if you haven't reviewed that already. 

As for the demand of Joren/Keladry stuff: you must understand that this story is categorized under Action/Adventure for a reason. Romance _will_ exist. And it won't be too far away. You just have to be patient. Good stuff like that should never be rushed, or it just erases the whole realistic element. You see? Well, that's my opinion anyway. And I can't wait to hear yours. Until next…

Oh! Almost forgot. Yes, the opening scene was partly inspired by Indiana Jones, the Temple of Doom. I do not own the rights to that movie. It's obvious. But I dearly care for all Indiana Jones movies _and_ James Bond movies, so as all of you who have already commented to me that you see it in here, yes, I'd call it influence. Bye, folks.

   [1]: mailto:silverwLng@aol.com



	20. Miserable Victory or Sweet Defeat?

It Could Be Worse

Episode 20: Miserable Victory or Sweet Defeat?

By Sulia Serafine

[Episode started: 3-20-01. Episode finished 4-8-01. A Protector of the Small fanfic set in an alternate universe; all credit goes to Tamora Pierce. I'm broke, so you can't sue me.

Oh, one more thing: BAD LANGUAGE (I. E. cursing, swearing…). You have been warned!

E-mail me at [silverwLng@aol.com][1], okay?]

It was freedom from the torture and suffering. This torture and suffering had been his life. He was not dying. He had already died when all the good things in his youth went up in flames. Since then, he was merely a ghost masquerading as alive. But he did a terrible job of pretending. His emotions had steeled themselves deep within him. All that mattered was becoming strong so he would not be hurt again like he'd been in Galla. He had to be strong to defend himself against the unjust men and women of power. No matter how much you tried to purify the system, it was always going to be corrupt somewhere. Someone took bribes or looked the other way when a man sinned against the world. That was life.

At first, the option to join some gang appealed to him. Or maybe he could be a famous outlaw, rebelling against authority. But that would only bring more people to chase after him, trying to knock him down and burn him at the stake. So, why not enroll in law enforcement? As a common thug, your purpose was what you wished. He did not wish for anything. He could care less how the rest of his life went. In the Dominion Jewel Protection Force, they chose your life for you. They promoted and demoted you accordingly. They gave you missions. They assigned you a home. 

The only thing that had been of his own choice had been keeping his father's bike. It was to his own misfortune, for it was his weakness. That whole disaster in Galla with his partner Keladry proved it. He had to admit that she'd changed when he first met her. It had been a battle of wits. Both were accustomed to keeping their feelings to themselves, not allowing anything to show through. Exceptions for her included fondness towards close friends. Exceptions for him included threats of anger and annoyance, also mocking. Back to the point: if he never had the bike, she would not have bought it back for him. And she would not have had to confront him. And he wouldn't have let his humanity rise from the dead. And he wouldn't have kissed her--

It was a mistake to keep the Black Knight around. 

But it was too late for regrets. It was over. The pain would end. It didn't even hurt that much any more, he told himself. So he could not feel his legs, so he could not move his head-- what did it matter? It was over. He could rest in peace, never to bare the pain of living ever again.

Joren Stone was sprawled out upon a metal table. He could feel sunlight on his face, warming his deathly pale skin. It never occurred to him that the warmth was faked by special light bulbs. He could hear birds in the distance, and the sound of animals as they moved through the trees. It did not occur to him that these were Immortals, watching curiously as Joren's assailant toyed with an odd machine in the middle of the pseudo-forest. It was better than the cold floor of the presidential laboratory, so like a wretched and lonely hospital.

"My boy," Roger smiled faintly, picking up a thin metallic feather from the ground. "You're going to enjoy your new physical prowess. You'll work for me, because if you don't, I'll go back to your hometown in Galla and make sure all those corrupted pigs live in luxury for eternity. I know you can hear me," he hissed into the prone man's ear. "Don't think I didn't look up your name when we first met. I knew you would threaten me later. It was all a matter of time, you poor son of a bitch." His voice changed. "When this is over, I think Joren Featherstone is what I'll call you." He laughed horrendously. There was a screech from the trees. A large creature with the head of a human man but the body of a bird of prey flew down to personally watch the venture. He preened his sharp silver wings.

"He's almost dead," the Stormwing whispered. "You stupid human, you'll lose him."

Roger frowned. "I will _not_. I can revive him with your blood, can't I?"

The winged conspirator hopped down and perched on a lower branch, spanning out his wings for balance. "True. But I'd not waste it if I were you."

"Oh, but Moonsword, you're not me. You're my puppet." 

The Immortal became flustered by the lack of respect the human man was giving him. He turned his head sharply and mumbled something under his breath. He flew off, leaving Joren subject to whatever Roger chose to do to him.

~~

K.J. turned to Cleon and grabbed his collar. She glared at him through narrowed eyes. "Stop staring at me, Kennan."

He gulped. "Whoa, K.J., it's not what you think. I wasn't staring!" He tried to chuckle jovially. "Right guys?" He looked over his shoulder at his friends. They directed their gazes elsewhere. Sure his best friend would-- Faleron was whistling and admiring the fake foliage above. Cleon sighed dejectedly and faced the woman who continued to hold him by his shirt. "S-sorry."

She shoved him away from her and stalked forward. The others fell into pace behind her. He kicked the dirt in frustration while his two closer friends --who were still wet-- regarded him sympathetically. He watched the dark haired woman in front of him even though she told him to stop. He couldn't help it. He was fascinated with her.

"I warned you Kennan. Why do you keep doing that?" she yelled angrily over her shoulder. Keladry and Lalasa exchanged glances and looked back at him with the same questions on their faces.

He blushed. "It's nothing." To his self he thought, "I wonder if those things are real…"

"Are we nearing the main laboratory at all?" Lalasa whined. Her legs were so tired of walking.

"No," their mysterious guide answered. "We have to pass the ogre dwellings first. They are mostly gentle things. Don't fear them. Move slowly and don't talk so loud." She pushed back a few branches and ducked under them. The others did the same. 

Lalasa fussed a moment when her hair snagged on it. She growled to herself and untangled it. "Ouch."

Roald stayed back and helped her. They jogged to catch up with the rest of their group. It wasn't long before they passed a large stone wall with deep niches carved into them. Fragments of burnt firewood were cooking fire evidence. There were also a few crude tents made out of raw leather set up beside the stone wall. K.J. paid it no attention and walked on. The others paused to observe the living space and hurried after K.J. Then they remembered her warnings to be slow, and so they noticeably decreased their walking speed.

"Where are they?" Faleron asked curiously.

"They knew we were coming and hid," she replied, yawning. "Be quiet now. They're watching us from the bushes."

"They _are_?" Cleon gasped and stared at the trees and shadows around the clearing. Then he saw them. Pairs of eyes in the shadows, watching cautiously, but not threatened whatsoever by the humans that walked past their homes. Blue skin, he noted with more interest. A lot of things were blue in the Immortals.

Even as they left the ogres behind, their minds were content on imagining other Immortals with all their never-before-seen brilliance. Lalasa told some of her thoughts to Roald, who put an arm around her shoulder as he listened. Cleon hummed a jaunty tune while gazing adoringly at the back of K.J.'s head. Owen, not knowing many of them personally, stayed near Keladry. Faleron limped, still refusing help. He insisted that it no longer affected him, but Keladry saw the grimaces in his face whenever he thought no one was looking. The former thief was an independent man. There was no denying it. He was a man of opportunity and risk.

"He takes risks for us," she thought to herself. Keladry glanced at her other companions. "He's the only one of us who isn't directly tied into this mess. Lalasa has her father, Roald is the Vice President's son, and Cleon and Owen are DJPF Officers."

The shorter man noticed her watching him. "Is something the matter?"

She blinked out of her thoughts. "Oh. Uh, there's dirt on your cheek."

He wiped at it with the back of his hand. "Thanks." He paused. "You know, when all this is over, I'm going to settle myself down in front of a holo screen with a nice big bowl of Lucky Charms and a bowl of sugar and say 'screw the world, I'm staying _right_ here'."

Cleon overheard and smiled. He had to admit that his friend's mood was getting better than it had been in Scanra.

"K.J.," Cleon called gently so as not to vex the woman. "Are we there yet?"

Memories of the redhead sitting in the back of their rented car burst into Keladry's head. She could almost hear the echoes of incessant whining and questioning. But it wasn't as displeasing as then. In fact, it was calming. This could have been another day for them, out on the field. She could just picture it. They would walk out of this grove of trees and see their car. She would drive, Lalasa would sit in shotgun, and the guys would stay in back. Owen wouldn't be there. He'd be having fun in the other district, or better yet-- he could follow in his own squad car.

~~

__

"Are we there yet?"

"No."

"Are we there yet?"

"No."

"Are we there… now?"

"Cleon, we've been through this. Do you want me to throw you out the window?"

"Okay, okay, sorry. Are you sure we're not there yet, Tough Stuff?"

"I should never have let you talk to Neal…"

~~

"Well? Are we there yet?"

"It's right over there," K.J. answered after thirty seconds. She smirked. "And by the way, Kennan, they're real."

"What's real?"

She stared at him, burning a hole between his eyes. He blushed. "I… I was _so_ not thinking that."

"Sure you weren't," she murmured mischievously after watching him march ahead with his flaming cheeks. They spotted the entryway a few yards off. With the incentive that their trek was almost done, they hastened to the laboratory door, eager to sit and rest.

When they went through the metal portal, it was an entirely different story.

~~

Blood smeared into three broad definitive lines and also into a series of smudges on the gray-white floor leading out to the forest where they had just come from. Sparks flew from machinery that displayed numerous bullet holes. A fluorescent light blinked on and off above them. Loose wires and cables trailed from the ceiling. And smashed and broken tools and instruments were scattered across the floor. 

Thom looked up at them as soon as they entered. He stood, his hands still holding the bars. He nudged his sister impatiently. She ignored him. Alanna had heard them, but continued to talk to Jonathan as he bore the pain of his wounds. She had to keep him conscious and calm somehow.

"Come help!" she ordered after they had been caught watching in dumb shock. "This is your President, for God's sake!"

Lalasa rushed forward, shedding what was left of her duster and tearing it into more strips to tie tightly over Jonathan's injuries. She eased the older man into a more comfortable position and began to tend to him. She bit her lip uneasily, not sure of herself. Alanna instructed her what to do and she obeyed as if she were a new nurse. Meanwhile, Owen and Roald searched the lab for any medical aides. They came up with tiny rolls of bandages and some alcohol. They brought the items to Lalasa. Then they set to work on opening the cage containing the twins.

"Hey, help me with these guys," K.J. told Cleon as she walked over to the pile of unconscious scientists still in their cage or lying out of it on the floor. She knelt down beside Daine and checked her vitals. Satisfied, she proceeded to shake her until she awoke. The brunette stirred slightly. 

"What…" she weakly lifted her head and met the other woman's eyes. "Oh, it's just you."

"Yeah. Come on, Ms. Sarassri, let's get you up." She gently helped the female Council Member to her feet while Numair opened his eyes to his own accord on the floor. 

He groaned and clutched his head. "Did anything drastic happen while we were out?"

Cleon opened his mouth to speak, but K.J. shot him a dirty look. He withdrew.

The other scientists became conscious and now there was a large group of people gathered in the supposedly most secret laboratory of Mithros. A couple of the men and women peered out into the habitats, talking amongst themselves on the welfare of the Immortals set free from their cages. It was obvious they wanted to leave, but the prominent importance of their safety and that of the President's beat out their insatiably curious minds. Numair and Roald fixed together a primitive stretcher using the doors of the cupboards and compartments lining some of the walls, and also the long pipes from under the sinks, since the room was to no longer be in use. 

Keladry walked around the counter and discovered the two bodies. She crouched down and examined Ozorne's body. Then she did the same to Vinson's. Pools of dark red blood surrounded both of them, soaking into their clothing and hair. "This wasn't too long ago. Who did this?"

Lalasa glanced over the counter from where she was standing beside Roald and Numair's stretcher. An expression of both grief and relief appeared on her face. The grief was for her father-- no matter how bad he truly was and the relief for Vinson. He was a misguided fellow, but after all the torment he'd given her, she couldn't help feeling that way. "Uncle Thom, what happened?"

The former head scientist now freed from the cage nervously massaged his neck. "Jonathan never did get a chance to tell us when Alanna and I showed up."

The president's advisor turned when she heard her name. When she realized they were gathered around Ozorne's body and speculating on the causes, she recalled what the now unconscious Jonathan had said to her.

~~

__

"You did **not** tell me that George brought in K. J.!"

~~

She shook her head. It was all too clear to her what had happened. "Hey, you."

"Yes?" Lalasa answered. Still distraught by her father's death and the situation befalling everyone's shoulders, she felt tired and a little insecure about her own life. Still, she forced some of her vibrant personality outwards. Alanna admired that.

"You're Tasikhe's daughter, right?"

She nodded, a little ashamed, but saddened in a compassionate way by the mention of Ozorne. 

Alanna groaned inwardly. The situation was too complex, too difficult. It was a web of trouble where everyone was caught-- some guilty _and_ innocent. This girl obviously didn't take after her father. Something in her eyes said so. It was better to have her leave before she found out who killed Ozorne. "Um, why don't you go upstairs with the rest of the scientists and stay with President Conté? You've done an excellent job about his care so far. I know you're not like Ozorne. I trust you. You can guard him when you get to the surface. I called in for reconnaissance a while ago when my brother and I were getting here. Find them in the last hall on the first floor, near the servants quarters. I don't think Ozorne had anything else up his sleeves besides those men up there holding everyone hostage and then whatever he wanted to do with the Immortals."

"Yes, ma'am," she said and immediately joined the procession up the stairs with the stretcher. 

With her out of the way, Alanna whistled to the mysterious black clad young woman that had led the others to the laboratory through the habitats. "K.J., come over here."

"Yes, Advisor?"

"You did a good job." She cleared her throat. Her voice took on an almost impressed tone. If anyone had cared to analyze the tone, they'd find the greatest DJPF officer in history a little upset. "Very good. I'll tell my husband. George is upstairs, doing who knows what." Her voice dropped to a whisper. She beckoned for her to come closer. "About Tasikhe, K.J."

"I know. I'm sorry." Her impassive face contradicted her words, though it wasn't done in spite. It was merely a professional attitude she'd taken on. "I should have been more discreet, but he was about to--"

"Yeah, I guessed. Look," she began, "Just don't… I don't know. Don't tell Lalasa Isran. And as for the identity thing, that's up to you."

K.J. paused. Then she bowed her head. "I understand. Thank you."

Alanna tapped her chin. "Why don't you go catch up with Jasson and Isran? I need Numair and Daine for the Immortals anyway. They do have qualifications that no one knows about."

The other smirked. "It's amazing how many secrets this government has. And to think, working the job I have, I know _all_ of them. Ms. Trebond." She declined her head slightly in a goodbye and bound up the steps.

"Excuse me, Advisor Trebond." Keladry cleared her throat.

"Hmm?"

"Has Stone come down here?"

__

~~

And then he was shot.

~~

Alanna blinked away the memory. Instead, she feigned ignorance. "Who's Stone?"

"My partner, Advisor. You remember, in Carthak?"

"Oh, yes. I remember now."

Keladry peered at her questioningly. "Is something wrong? Does it have to do with that jerk?"

Alanna sighed. She folded her arms, staring down at the scuff on her boot. "It does," she admitted. "Your partner…"

The young woman before her rolled her eyes, letting her mask of emotions fall as she had let it do all day. "I can just guess. It was a big, manly, testosterone-filled battle and he was showing off. I see that would account for Ozorne and Vinson." She reluctantly stopped smirking. "Right?"

"You're close," Alanna said. She met her eyes with an apology already in them. "Ozorne was dead when Thom and I got here. Then it was just Jon, Thom, and I. Roger and Stone came down the stairs. I supposed Stone meant to fake an alliance with Roger for the time being. Vinson came down, trying to kill Jon. Stone shot Vinson. And then…" She trailed off faintly.

"And then what?" Keladry stared with unblinking eyes.

"Roger shot _him_." 

A few seconds of silence seemed like hours to the retired DJPF AA officer. She never had to confront people before and tell them that a certain person was dead. She'd seen it though. Sometimes, officers she'd worked with had been forced to knock on the doors of civilians to tell them that their loved one had been killed. 

Whether or not Joren Stone was considered a 'loved one' did not particularly matter. It was the fact that he was a person that they knew. That Keladry knew. That Faleron and Cleon and Roald knew. That Lalasa and Thom knew. He could have been standing right next to them at that very moment. But he wasn't.

Keladry felt something constrict in her chest. She never knew someone who'd died, not personally. It was a strange experience. Her automatic defenses went up. Her expression exhibited the utmost calm and control. "Is he dead?"

"We don't know. Roger took Stone with him before we could tell." She pointed to the bloody marks on the floor. They certainly looked something human-sized could have made them if it had been dragged along. 

In the meantime, the others had listened in on the shocking piece of news that she had just announced. Faleron stared off into space, consumed in his own thoughts. He was leaning on Cleon because of his ankle, and the redhead was looking at the dirt on the floor-- as if it could answer all his questions, or at least listen to them. Thom, Numair, and Daine all hovered about the entrance to the fake forest. They looked at the blood on the floor with new meaning. It was better when they did not know whose life essence had been spilled across the floor next to the other less worthy men. But now that they knew, they could _picture_ it.

Thom shut his eyes tightly, forcing down the bile in his throat. He'd seen _everything_. Vinson, then Joren… He'd seen it all, when he'd already seen enough. He raised his hand weakly. "Miss Mindelan. Your partner's gun…" He knelt down and picked up the weapon. Then he shuffled over and handed it to her. "We're sorry. Al and I were locked up. We couldn't help. We should have."

Keladry shook her head numbly. In a monotone voice, she answered him. "No, that's okay. You two couldn't do anything. But… he could still be alive." She looked at Alanna for guidance, not essentially in hopefulness. "Advisor Trebond? You said you couldn't tell if he was dead or not. There's a chance my partner is alive."

"Yes, there's a slim chance."

She nodded and ran her fingertips over the trigger of the Desert Eagle. "Well then, that's it. I'll go after him. Never leave a fallen man behind, right?" She looked from face to face in the room. They avoided her eyes. It was as if they knew that behind the façade that she was uncertain and nervous. Finally, her gaze stayed on one of them. "Owen, come with me. We can find them."

He coughed. Faleron nudged him to go ahead. Owen hesitantly came forward. "Right."

Alanna smiled approvingly. She took charge of the rest. "All right, let's do this. Thom, come with me. We'll handle the Immortals causing most damage wherever they are in the habitat. Last thing we need is the Razorbeaks attacking the Undines and the Coldfangs attacking the monkeys. Daine, can you and Numair trace all the loose Immortals-- the ones who didn't go into the habitat? And when you're done, go up top and prepare the rest of the DJPF for the onslaught. I don't think we've seen the worst of it yet. You two," she pointed and Faleron and Cleon. "You work the hostage situation with the First Lady and George."

There was a random assortment of "yes ma'am" and "got it" from the people surrounding the veteran. The group dispersed. Keladry and Owen followed the blood on the grass into the shadows of the false forest. The copper-haired twins went in the opposite direction. Numair and Daine remained in the laboratory, salvaging what was left of the computer databases while two of the three stooges marched upstairs (or rather one limped, the other marched).

It was as smooth as could be. Besides the suggestions from Owen, all of which were too asinine for her to care, Keladry held on tightly to the handle of her partner's gun. She wet her chapped lips. The stillness of the environment around them only increased her apprehension.

"Note impending doom," she mumbled under her breath with an air of sarcasm. She wiped the sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand. Then she tugged nervously on the hem of her vest. "Hey, Bonehead. What do you think Roger is going to do with all those Immortals? You think he had different plans than from what Tasikhe had?"

Owen snorted. "It wouldn't surprise me if he did. From what I've heard, the guy was poison, through and through."

She nodded. Luckily Lalasa wasn't here. She was obligated to defend her father in certain areas. He'd never abused her after all. Checked up on her. Who knew what she would have retorted to Owen that moment.

"Well, let's hope that it's almost over."

"Aww, I was looking for a jolly fight."

~~

"Okay, so Ozorne had a lot of guys outside, fighting to keep the DJPF out. That means there can't be that many guys guarding the hostage-- er, the First Lady." Cleon frowned. "_Are _there other hostages?"

Faleron shrugged. "George Swoop, Alanna's husband." Although they would never admit it, they took around five seconds contemplating reasons why Alanna would not change her maiden name when she became married. Then they threw the thought from their minds forever. "Anyway, you're right about the guards. It is very unlikely the numbers would be large. And there is no way that they know Ozorne is dead. He, Vinson, Lalasa, and Roger were the only ones with any authority, right? Are there any other boss men?"

"I don't think so."

They stalked quietly down the empty halls. The only sound was the air conditioning, a constant hum in their ears. The lights were dim now, and the sky was a little darker outside. Night was fast approaching. Headlights from squad cars and helicopters were seen from the windows, which they avoided. Ozorne's men could shoot them from outside. It was obvious by their clothing that they were not on the same side.

"Where are we going?" Cleon asked in a quiet whisper.

"To the ballroom. It's near the front."

"Oh. Uh, Fal?"

The former thief turned to his friend. "Yes?"

"Do we have _any_ plan whatsoever?"

He scratched the side of his head. "I was actually going to do my best Cleon Kennan impersonation and barge in there without a plan."

The redhead narrowed his eyes. "Haha. Very funny."

"Aren't I?" Faleron smiled and continued onward with Cleon at his heels. 

"So, really! What's our plan?"

"I don't have one," he admitted sheepishly.

"What do you mean you don't have one?" Cleon exclaimed. He stopped him by grabbing onto his shoulder and spinning him around. "Hey, I thought you were the brains of this whole little operation."

Faleron rubbed his temples tensely. He let out a deep breath. At that moment, Cleon couldn't help but notice how tired he looked, how haggard and worn he appeared. "Kennan, I can't think anymore. Why don't we do it your way for once? Let's just do what we feel in our nature."

"There's a good chance we may die."

"I know."

Cleon held out his hand to him. Faleron took it and squeezed. They silently spoke all their thankfulness to each other's company and friendship throughout the last few months. Whatever happened next, they would see it through together. 

A few more minutes passed. Then they reached the large set of double doors that would slide apart to reveal the center of hostage activity. The hall was deathly quiet, except for their breathing. They could have been the only two people on the planet. No noise came from the other side of the doors. Perhaps there was no one there at all. They'd gotten the wrong room. 

Each man stood on one side of the doorway. Faleron's hand hovered above the keypad, ready to open it. Each drew his guns, Cleon even whispering a quiet prayer though he was not the religious type.

"This is it," he whispered to his shorter companion. "No turning back, dude."

"Oh. You mean we could be horribly outnumbered and we'd double our weight in lead before we walked three steps?"

"Exactly."

"The more the merrier."

"I thought you'd say that."

The two men stared at each other for a while. Then the shorter, darker haired one spoke. "I know what I just said a few minutes ago, but… I'm having second thoughts. Maybe we could look into the room somehow before we run in."

There was laughing from the other side of the door. Cleon put his ear against hit, brows furrowed in concentration.

"I think we'll be okay. Honestly, I think we can do this. I know it's crazy, but--"

Faleron nodded, his lips curled up into a crooked smile. "On the count of three. One… two…"

"Three!" they shouted in unison. His hand slammed down on the keypad. The door slid open and they burst through, guns held up, prepared for the kamikaze attack. Actually, not as prepared as they both thought. Split seconds before they ran in, Faleron's mind had frozen time once again to analyze the situation. 

Find cover. If not furniture, then a body. There had to be someone near the door. A big burly guy, if he was lucky. No, not shoot him and hold the corpse as a shield. That was be inhumane and downright wrong. You did that in the merciless battlefield when sanity has fled from the mind and desires to survive take over. No, Fal would only knock that person unconscious and _then_ use that body as a shield.

The other men wouldn't fire at their comrade who'd been knocked out cold, would they?

Cleon's mind was on a completely different level. He knew he could hit his marks, unlike Faleron. He could take out men without worrying about their safety or his own. His shots were instinct, through and through. To cripple, not to kill: that was the motto. He raised his deadly weapons up, taking aim upon the first of Ozorne's hired goons.

"_Wait_!"

He froze, arms stretched out before him, aiming at a random man whose face displayed complete and utter terror. At first, he blinked. He pouted. And it was then that he realized the man he was aiming at had his hands handcuffed behind his back. In fact, a whole bunch of thugs were queued behind him. Cleon lowered his arms and turned to take in the rest of the scene.

"Eh?"

Faleron shifted his weight off of his aching ankle. He looked about him. Men and women ranging from mid-twenties (the third class officers) to late forties (experienced second and first class officers) scattered across the ballroom, apprehending the muscled lackeys of Ozorne Tasikhe. He shook his head and tucked his gun back into the waistband of his pants. 

Thayet Conté and George P. Swoop sat comfortably on the floor, no longer bound in any way. There were now also a large number of frightened and trembling servants sitting with them. They all appeared unharmed and safe, much to the two young men's relief. 

"Who are _you_?" a young man in his mid to late twenties asked the two newcomers. Amazing brown hair swept back from a widow's peak while his bright eyes hinted at a vibrant spirit. Cleon peered at him.

"Your voice. You sound so familiar."

Faleron looked from man to man. "What?"

"Do you work for Ozorne?" the young DJPF officer asked firmly. Faleron's observance noted that the guy was first class, a rare thing for a youth. But then again, there were Keladry and Owen. Perhaps they were the first of a new wave of heroes. The man narrowed his eyes. "Are you _listening_ to me?"

"Oh! Sorry, chap, my fault," Faleron amended. Cleon snapped his fingers.

"You're Neal! I listen to Keladry talking on the com-link of her pager to you. _We_ talked once, right?"

Nealan Queenscove's mouth dropped open, the very non-example of stateliness and refinement. He lowered his own standard issue gun and put his hands on his hips. "So, it's you! You're Cleon Kennan, right? The rookie that Kel was working with?"

The two tall men both grinned and started shaking hands, as if one of them had never charged into the room with intents on raising hell. In fact, it resembled much like the reunion of old friends. The third, shorter man, feeling completely ignored, cleared his throat. He folded his arms. "Excuse me? Uh, can we get to business here?"

"Oh, yes. You're…"

"Faleron King," he bowed his head slightly. "Anyway, what's the deal? Has the whole entire mansion been taken back?"

Neal looked to a fellow officer that was listening in. He coughed. "Um, not all of it. There are still certain parts of the estate that are still holding concentrated loyalists of the Tasikhe rebel faction." A realization crossed his mind. "How do I know you're not working for Ozorne? You could just be using good ol' Kel for an excuse!"

Before they could defend themselves, George stood and walked over to them. "Boys! Good job. I believe you're Kennan and King, right? I've heard about you."

"Really?" Cleon beamed.

His companion did not share his enthusiasm and glee. Instead, he gave George a suspicious, untrusting look. "And from where did you hear about us? Or, did someone tell you?" He paused and narrowed his eyes further into slits. "I see now."

The president's second advisor bristled. "See what?"

"That girl, K. J. She's the one, right? Your spy?" he asked casually, with hints of mocking. "She knew our names too, even though it usually would have been impossible to identify men who are never seen."

"I don't know what you're talking about," George grated.

Faleron chuckled now, completely confident in his hypothesis. "Oh, but you do. You've already let the cat out of the bag with your incorrigible greeting. _Heard_ about us, sir?"

Cleon cuffed him in the shoulder. "What are you doing? He's a good guy!"

"With good intentions I'm sure. That doesn't make everything he does approved by the government, does it?" Faleron looked from Neal, to George. He'd apparently irritated everyone with his accusations. The only choice left was to let it go for the moment. "Oh, fine. I apologize. We can deal with this in a few minutes. Let's take care of the First Lady and the rest of the servants." His mind figured it really would be best to handle this later. After all, everything was practically over. The hostages had been rescued. The rebels had been for the most art quelled. What could possibly happen?

~~

Lalasa did not leave the President's side as he was being transported from one stretcher to another. The paramedics with Alanna's team were very professional, but they acted like she was a nuisance. She had explained to them that Alanna had specifically told her to stay by Jonathan Conté's side. They grumbled to themselves, knowing well whose daughter she was. Roald reprimanded their coldness every five minutes, and they had to submit. He was the Vice President's son.

The mysterious young woman referred to, as K.J. did nothing to interfere with the social and political tussles that occurred between Lalasa and the rest. Her attention drifted to the final skirmishes between Ozorne's men and theirs outside, and then drifted back to the young man in front of her. She was approximately two years his elder. Obvious hints of fixed obedience and politeness made her somewhat annoyed, but otherwise glad that he turned out the way he did. 

A siren sounded from outside. Men cheered. 

"So that's it?" Lalasa asked. Roald nodded. 

"I guess so. K.J., excuse me?"

She lifted one eyebrow. "What now?"

"Is this all over? Was that it?" he asked with concern in his warm eyes. It was hard not to be nice back.

"I believe it is," she replied, her voice a little softer than before. She turned away from them to look out the window, assured that no bullets would shoot through the glass and kill her. A frightening sight greeted her.

Stormwings flew in the air, perched on the lawn, the awnings of the garden structures, and then elsewhere. Their sharp metallic feathers reflected the artificial lights posted around the estate. Their tangled hair framed their pointy-chinned faces. K.J. bit back a curse and yelled to the nearest officer.

"Damn it! What's going on? How did they get from out underground?"

A tall thin man with curly black hair squatted on the ground next to a holo-screen. He communicated with someone else on his com-link pager. With a pale face, he gulped. "Ma'am, they're taking down the squads outside. Everything's falling apart!"

At that moment, a stone crashed through the window, sending a shower of glass shards over that side of the room. K.J. twisted away, but still felt the fragments cut into her skin as they went past. Everyone else had instinctively flung their arms over their heads. 

"Are you okay?" Lalasa asked her.

"Fine. It's nothing," she winced as she removed a piece of glass from her forearm. K.J. peered outside into the darkening sky. She ascertained that these Immortals had excellent night vision, otherwise they would not be out here attacking. Their speed and agility made them hard targets. And who knew what other tricks they had up their sleeves…

~~

Rikash Moonsword watched from a safe distance. He was not at all fond of Roger, but the human had struck a good deal with him, and Rikash would be cursed for all eternity if he didn't take advantage of it. He could get a home of his own, outside the cursed habitat he'd been bred in. Though most of the Stormwings were made through cloning and artificial insemination, there had never been a full adult human man to be made into one of them. He had no doubts that with major surgery and use of the highly advanced Immortal blood that it could be done. But to try it recklessly as Roger was doing… it was so very wrong to him.

He wanted to fly back and scold the evil human some more for his carelessness and lack of gentleness with the experiment, but _he_ had been the one to storm off. Rikash had been insulted. If he returned to the table, surely Roger would mock him even more than before.

Back at the operating table, Joren's body had become paler. Blood leaked out his side, and from the corner of his lips down to his chin and neck. The area around him was permanently stained with him. The sanitation was not good for operating. If Joren lived, there was a proper chance of infection. Roger growled in frustration as he reviewed the written procedures for his experiment. He could never read Thom's writing clearly. At the time, the Wizard did not even know why Roger had wanted it.

"I guess he knows now," Roger thought maniacally.

A few minutes passed. Joren's chest neither rose nor fell with his breathing. Roger reached forward to take a pulse on the wrist, anticipating the worst. A whole range of emotions crossed his face. It began with confusion, then fear, and finally anger. There was no pulse. 

Joren Stone was dead. 

Roger dropped the wrist so that the limp hand hit the table with an audible thud. 

"Damn it! I was this close!" he exclaimed. "Where did I put that Stormwing blood?" He slapped his forehead. "It is back with the equipment, isn't it? Damn!" He stomped away, leaving the body by itself on the table. For a moment, he did not want to leave Joren alone. But then the logical part of his mind laughed at his scheming and told him that a dead body would not get up by itself and walk away.

The impetuous Stormwing took this as his chance. He flew down from his spying tree and went to Joren's side. He only had one chance to bring back this human the _right_ way. Roger did not know what he was doing. So, Rikash perched on the edge of the table, spanning out his wings so that he could pluck one of his own feathers with his clawed feet. He then leaned over Joren's chest to reach the gaping wound in his side. That would be the easiest way.

Cautiously, Rikash drew some of his own blood with the point of the feather so a bright red drop hung from it. Then he placed it in the flesh that still gave off warmth. The Stormwing withdrew from the table. It only took a single drop of Immortal blood to affect the dying cells within and spur them back to life. Knowing Roger, he would have wasted the whole vial. Joren's body then wouldn't have been able to handle all the new organic substances entering his bloodstream from the exposed flesh and muscle at his side.

But, if Joren were alive to begin with and afterwards given the large amount of blood, he would be stronger than before-- perhaps superhuman. Rikash would love to see Joren revolt against Roger with his newfound strength and take care of the evil mortal _for_ Rikash. Then Rikash could be free. And his people as well. He chuckled to himself and departed for the concealing shadows of the trees.

~~

The pain was overwhelming. He could have sworn that the pain should have ended. Was this death? Eternal pain-- as if one had a physical body? All the years of his life, he assumed death was peace. More importantly, it was supposed to become his salvation from pain and suffering. He was never sure if he believed in a Heaven or Hell. If there were a Heaven, his parents would be there. If there were a Hell, Ozorne would be there. And maybe himself as well. Or would he be put in the place in between the two? He couldn't remember the name, and deemed it unworthy of his attention.

Besides, it still hurt. It hurt to live.

Joren's head swam. His eyes fluttered open. The light blinded him at first. He jerked his head away feebly, only making it hang off the edge of the table. All of a sudden, something in his throat closed off. He choked on his own blood going down his windpipe. The blonde coughed hard. His chest ached from the feeling. More blood flowed out from his mouth. It trailed to his cheekbone now that his head was tilted back from the table edge. 

Someone groaned. Oh, wait. That was his groan. Joren attempted to move his limbs. His right arm lifted hurtfully from the table. His finger stretched out to grasp onto anything, anything at all. Before he could test any more bodily motion, he started coughing again. 

He couldn't breathe. It was suffocation. Of all the ways to die, suffocation was one of the worst. It was slow and agonizing. How much longer would he be conscious before he passed out again and died? A little wretched voice inside him that if he could bare it, then he would feel the peace again. It would be a blanket of serene silence that he could wrap himself in for the rest of eternity. 

"Not like this," he thought, vision blurring. In the corners of his vision appeared little dots. Within the seconds that he suffered, he realized _someone_ had brought him back on purpose. The least he could do was find out why and make them pay for their actions.

As if the higher powers granted a transient reprieve from death, air rushed greedily into his lungs. His muscles became stronger-- more powerful than moments before. It was ample strength needed for him to turn onto his uninjured side so that he could spit out the blood from his mouth. He gripped the edge of the table with white knuckles, shaky arms that might not support him. Gritting his teeth, he swung his legs over the side. 

"Back to life, Stone. The question: after I'm done, shall I stay or shall I go?" he asked himself in a nearly inaudible voice. He wondered at it. Joren preoccupied himself from a memory of his past. He'd contracted laryngitis because of staying so long out in the snow and not properly warming himself when he got inside. Afterwards, he could not recognize his gravel-like speech. His parents chided him for trying to talk while his larynx was still afflicted.

For the first time, he regarded the world around him. The trees, the artificial sky cast over an extremely high ceiling… it reminded him a place he saw as a child, but once again could not remember for the life of him.

Haplessly, he did not know that he was being regarded as well by a pair of beady eyes that belonged to Rikash Moonsword. The highly intelligent and twice as clever creature found himself elated with the results, and flew off.

~~

Thom gulped. "I don't like Spidrens all that much, Al."

"Don't be such a baby, Thom. Come here."

The other twin ambled timorously toward his other half, taking her offered hand. They roamed through the imitation forest with its gnarled roots of ancient trees and its moss and saplings. It was a steady journey, not stealing the breath from either of them so that they gasped from exhaustion. 

"You know what this reminds me of?" Alanna asked.

He scratched at the nape of his neck, where he supposed a gnat had bit him. "No, what?"

"This is like the time when we were nine. We went to Aunt Rispah's cabin for the spring after Uncle died so we could keep her company. You got lost while getting the firewood and I had to go out and search for you. Finally found you with your foot in an animal trap."

Her brother frowned at her beguiled and amused face. "Hey, that's not funny. That was terrible."

"You didn't get hurt. Sharp, cutting animal traps are archaic. The one that got you didn't hurt you. It just trapped you."

He flushed. "That's not the point! I was stuck there for hours having to listen to the animals in their stupid mating season."

She laughed. "And yet you grew up to work with animals, unfazed by the scarring experience."

"They're not animals," Thom corrected, his tone getting serious. "They're something else. And mind you, the whole country is going to put Jonathan and us through hell with their interrogations. No matter what we do, our reputations are affected forever."

Alanna stopped and released his hand. "You're right. But we deserve it. There were some horrible things that happened. Jonathan gave too much freedom to some of the scientists working for us. We didn't know until it was too late how many Immortals they really brought to life."

"What will they do with them once this is over? Put them in a zoo?"

She couldn't answer his question in time. Three spidrens came into view, chasing a pelican with a black beak.

~~

"How much is left in the bag?" Keladry inquired from Owen, talking in a stage whisper.

"Plenty," he replied. He grabbed her shoulder suddenly, pulling her to a stop. "Hey, there's light up ahead."

She squinted. "You're right. Okay, I'll approach from this way. Why don't you go right that way and come in from there."

He nodded in agreement. "Okay, but don't reveal ourselves until we signal each other. Pager?"

"Yeah."

They split up as planned. Keladry crept through the shadows over brittle pieces of wood on the ground that was sure to make noise and give her away. While she did this, she asked herself just what she was going to do. Roger could be armed. He probably was. Maybe he had Immortals protecting him. Then what would she do? What if she could not fight him because he threatened Joren's life? 

She leaned up against a tree and sighed, banishing all these thoughts from her mind. If she kept thinking that way, she would most certainly screw this up. Keladry continued forward, finally reaching the edge of a small clearing.

Various pieces of strange equipment littered the area, with an operating table right in the middle. She could see a cart that had operating instruments on it. But what caught her attention was the person sitting unsteadily on the table. Strands of his white blonde hair were matted to his damp forehead. Dried blood caked around his mouth and on one side of his face. Someone had ripped part of his black shirt away at the side to have better access to the bullet wound. As far as she could tell, he had stopped bleeding.

He was alive. Alanna had probably been wrong. The shot wasn't that serious after all. Keladry figured, if it had been as bad, then how could he be sitting up? She couldn't help it. She smiled a little. It never crossed her mind what would happen if Joren could no longer be her partner. During the course of their ill-fated adventure, they'd settled into a routine that was hard to break. It included much confusion and awkwardness, as well as snide hurtful remarks, but it worked. 

Through the other side of he clearing, Roger entered. He raked a hand through his black hair, whistled as he held a small glass vial in one hand. He set it down on the cart and faced the blonde.

"How in the world did you come back to life? Zombie or something?" he asked with evil stares. Joren stared right back, never wavering though his physical health was not at its best. "Well?"

"Fuck you."

Keladry grinned despite herself. She could hear the two words clearly from where she was. She no longer felt as intimidated as she was before. Carefully, she cocked the gun that she held-- his gun-- and aimed at Roger. It was going to be terribly easy and also very uneventful. If Cleon were there at the moment, there was no doubt that he would complain of the lack of drama in the whole place. 

"Aim for the heart," she chanted in her head. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed her pager blinking. It was Owen. But she had no time for that. Why did they have to spring out from their hiding places when everything could be taken care of with her next action?

Roger turned more towards her, still giving a drawn out dynamic speech to a bored and annoyed Joren. Her breath caught in her throat. By Glory, she'd actually have to kill him. It was not difficult to justify his death, though. Attempted murder of the president, plot to take over the nation, disregard for life… The list went on and on. 

She steadied her hands on the gun. A drop of sweat rolled down the side of her face. She was so nervous. A part of her told her to go ahead and squeeze the trigger. End the living horror. Another part of her wanted to run away like a coward. Let someone else handle this. Owen could probably do it. He was always looking for a good fight anyway. Why not let him take the credit?

"Stop this," she scolded herself. "Just shoot."

Just as she tightened her finger on the trigger, Joren moved, blocking her target. She lowered the Desert Eagle and growled silently. She'd missed her chance unless her partner moved again.

And gratefully, he did.

Keladry reacted automatically, not missing one fraction of second. Two shots-- dead center. The body of the President's kinsman jerked in one direction, twisting as it fell. There was a dull sound as his body hit the dirt, sending up a cloud of dust. Joren had frozen where he was, gaping in disbelief. With more rapidly growing strength, he gently lowered himself off the table-- though heavily leaning upon it, and hobbled towards Keladry's direction.

"Who's there? Show yourself!"

Keladry came forward, her heart racing. It was over. That was it. The villain was dead. "Stone! Are you okay?"

His expression was set in granite. "Mindelan. Where's your head huh? What are you thinking? Go check the body!"

She flinched at his loud, ungrateful voice. It sounded a little grated, and she couldn't help but stare at the blood on his cheek. Angrily, he wiped it away and pointed impatiently at Roger lying on his belly on the other side of the table. Keladry was afraid he would notice her blinking pager and put her hand over it as she crossed around the rectangular table to inspect.

It had grown oddly silent around them. Keladry relaxed when she saw that the body did not move, probably was not breathing. She took her finger off the trigger and moved her toe under his chest. With one grunting effort, she turned Roger over onto his back. Keladry frowned. 

"Hmm… no blood from the bullet holes."

Joren stood straight up. "No blood! Mindelan--"

"Aaaah!" Keladry cried out as Roger opened his eyes and grabbed her leg. He threw her down. Keladry smacked into the ground painfully, gritting her teeth as she got up on her elbows. The gun had been knocked out of her hands. She couldn't see where it had gone.

Roger recovered faster than she did, kicking her in the stomach _hard_. Pain converged in her abdomen, making her hold her breath so as not to scream. She rolled away, allowing enough space between them for her to stand and fight back. The man couldn't be as agile as she was. Neither of them had any weapons that she could see. It was all a matter of fist fighting skills.

Joren watched attentively. He yearned to beat the crap out of his would-be murderer. The only thing he could do was stand by uselessly as his partner and his enemy fought hand to hand.

"Owen! Where are you?" Keladry shouted after getting punched in the jaw by a strong right hook. She reeled from the impact, trying to gain vengeance by attacking a blind spot in Roger's defense. She executed a high kick that found its mark. Her heel collided with his neck while his knee came up and got her ribs. They both fell.

At the edge of the clearing, Owen ran forward. "I'm here! Hold on!"

And then the ground rose up to meet him. Rikash had slammed into the DJPF officer forcefully, beating his wings mightily. He swooped down and grabbed the bag of weapons that he has carried and deposited them high in a tree, hanging by a sturdy branch.

"Shit!" Owen shouted. He jumped up uselessly to try and reach the taunting Immortal.

"Oh, temper, temper. What a dirty mouth for a young mortal…"

Keladry collided with the ground once again. Dirt got into her eyes. She couldn't see Roger as he pinned her down and wrapped his hands around her neck. He was going to strangle her to death. 

Owen threw rocks up at the dodging Stormwing. Then he resulted to throwing rocks at the black bag in the trees high above. One hit its mark and a small handgun fell from the open pocket. He jumped for joy. "Yes!"

The gun hit the ground, gratefully not going off. Rikash dove for it, but Owen would not be beat. He skidded before it and grabbed it, aiming for the offending creature. Rikash screeched and flew higher toward the ceiling, making his escape. 

"Owen!" Keladry screamed as soon as she got the air to do it. He turned and fired at Roger, hitting him in the chest successively three times. The larger man was thrown back against the table, jarring the support Joren depended on. The blonde fell unnoticed, for Roger got back up, raging with a snarl on his face.

"Bullet proof vest," she gasped. She scrambled to her feet. "Owen, bullet proof vest!"

Owen aimed for the head and squeezed off one shot. Miss. Roger charged at her again. They tumbled to the ground. Keladry kept yelling to Owen to shoot him while trying to throw her enemy off. He began to strangle her again. No matter her fighting skills, there was a supernatural strength in him that overwhelmed her skills and power. Maybe he'd experimented on himself once upon a time. 

"Shit!" Owen cried, rushing toward them, determined not to fail to strike this time. 

"Do something!" she yelled savagely, her teeth clenched in tiring effort. She tried to gouge out his eyes, but he knocked her hands aside. She tried to knee him in the stomach or groin, but he used his legs to pin hers. He was so heavy, she couldn't hope to shake him. "Get… off… of me!"

The young DJPF officer steadied his trembling hands. He pulled the trigger. _Click_.

"Oh, God, already? I'm out already!" he exclaimed frantically.

Keladry's eyes rolled back in her head, her hands that were clawing at Roger's slowly losing their grip. There was a gagging sound. Her mouth was wide open… tongue stuck out. Her face was rapidly turning crimson. Owen couldn't reach them in time. He saw himself running in slow motion to tackle.

A lone gunshot reverberated through air. The bullet entered Roger through his exposed neck, splattering blood upon the barely conscious young woman sprawled beneath him. He tottered a bit before falling back dead. Keladry coughed, gasping for air as she kicked at the corpse's legs that covered her own. 

Joren was on his knees, holding his gun once again. The same weapon to have killed son was the same to have killed father. It was irony at its best. He glanced casually from her, then to the astonished young officer behind her. Coldly, with a now familiar un-graveled voice, he said, "You need to work on your aim, whatever your name is."

Owen nodded numbly, his eyes as wide as saucers.

The blonde reached up to the cart and took the vial of blood that Roger had placed there. He knew it would have an effect on him. Some weird feeling inside him told him to keep it. So, he deposited it in his pocket. Then Joren checked his side. The wound was healing faster than it normally would. Already, he could see improvement. He faced the others. "If you two are done gaping, let's get the hell out of here."

~~

Faleron coughed distractedly as he stared out the window of the ballroom.

Neal joined him, also gaping at the depressing sight. "Whoa. This sucks."

"Understatement. That was definitely was an understatement."

Cleon blinked. "What are you two looking at?"

Wordlessly, Neal pointed. Faleron spoke. "Stormwings. Everywhere."

"What do you mean the Stormwings are everywhere?" Cleon yelled. Then he saw. "Oh, that is… not good," he finished lamely. There were not any words to think of. And then he thought of some. He pounded his right fist into his left palm. "First Indiana Jones, and now, The Birds! Is this 'Live in the Movies' Day?" He yanked stressfully at his own hair. 

Faleron shrugged. The whole day had been so tiring, he didn't have any energy left to be shocked or scared, or angry. He scratched his head. "So, if we get rid of the Stormwings, it'll be done? Then why don't we, good fellows?"

Cleon glared at him. Sure, he'd been happily anticipating brawls with Ozorne's men, and Roger, but he did not relish the idea of fighting things that should have been science fiction. "Fal, buddy, our mission, should we choose to accept it-- and of course we don't _have a choice_-- is to stay alive and haul our asses back to the land of no weird creatures running amuck. I'm thinking that us actually accepting that this is all happening (the world knows I'd rather be fighting strictly homo sapien enemies) and going out to fight this is not the best way to retain the aforementioned pansy ass!"

His best friend blinked. "I didn't know you knew the word 'aforementioned.' Let alone that you could use it in a sentence."

"Fan-freaking-tastic word, methinks. If anyone else is finally on the brink of insanity, please follow me to the nearest corner to scream his bloody lungs out. Thank you and have a nice day."

~~

Author: FINALLY! After _so_ long, I finally found the time to finish this. (Of course, no my history grade is at stake. I blew off the weekend to write this instead of researching my group debate for ideals in history. ARGH!) Now, there's only one more thing after this: The season finale. NOTE: I did _not_ say series finale. I said _season_ finale. Does everyone understand? 

Now, the whole fact that I got a billion death threats after I shot Joren. Well, I didn't really shoot him-- Roger did, but I was the one that wrote it. Okay. It's my own fault. I take a less than popular character from Ms. Pierce and transform him into a superstar among fanfiction, then SHOOT him? Well, I'm like that. *grins* Hey, you didn't expect it, though, right?

And besides, some girls dig scars. And he'll have hell of a scar after this. *wink* *whispering* I prefer the skin-tight uniform, myself. And the bike!

Okay, okay. Enough of that… I kind of stole a scene from a fabulous author, K.A. Applegate _not from Animorphs_ *shudder* but his more high school type books, called Everworld. Let him take credit for the last scene of this episode. 

I hope you enjoyed the entrance of Rikash Moonsword. Okay, so he's not much like his original character. That's why this is a parallel universe. Yes, I know some of my terminology of Immortals was wrong. Once again, this is a parallel universe. Give me a break. 

Oh, and don't forget to review, you lovely people, you.

   [1]: mailto:silverwLng@aol.com



	21. And You Call This Justice?

It Could Be Worse

It Could Be Worse

Episode 21: And You Call This Justice?

SEASON FINALE

By Sulia Serafine

[Episode started: 4-15-01. Episode finished 4- 29-01. A Protector of the Small fanfic set in an alternate universe; all credit goes to Tamora Pierce. I'm broke, so you can't sue me.

Oh, one more thing: BAD LANGUAGE (I. E. cursing, swearing…). You have been warned!

E-mail me at [silverwLng@aol.com][1], okay?]

"This way!"

Owen ran at the front of the trio. His excitement overtook him. There was a promise of controversy and battle in this Stormwing business, and though it terrified him-- it thrilled him as well. He was glad his companions could not see his face. They would be disgusted at his wide grin and flushed cheeks. 

The female behind him pushed her hair out of her eyes, staring at the back of his head. There were bits of twigs and leaves in his dark, curly hair from when he'd fallen to the ground. No doubt, there was probably some in hers, but it did not matter. They had to get upstairs and find out what happened with the rest of the world. 

Blood and dirt footprints trailed behind the last person's first few steps onto manmade surfaces. Joren briefly reflected on ways not to slip because of it. And then he focused upon keeping up with the other two though his injuries slowed him. Strands of white-yellow hair stuck to the sheen of sweat on his forehead. Areas of his body had dried blood, a rusty red color that matched his clothing and substance that clumped his hair. The heat coming from his body was overwhelming enough for him to open up the front of his shirt. Cool air tickled his chest.

The halls they traveled through were no longer stately and perfect as they'd been before. It would take forever for interior decorators and licensed contractors to repair the President's home and office. Holes in the wall, dirt from boots… Everywhere you looked, a fight had probably taken place there as the rebels had done what they wanted. And the DJPF tried to take it back. 

"Do you know where you're going?" Keladry finally called up to her younger friend. She could not recognize any of the halls they turned into.

He looked back at her with an impish twinkle in his eye. "Not really."

Their aimless running went on for a few more moments. They came to a stop in front of the back stairs. Here, he shrugged and started jogging up at a slower pace so that they didn't over exert themselves before any potential fights. Joren muttered something offensive under his breath, but Keladry chose not to repeat the words to Owen, whom obviously had not heard because it seemed he had a happy expression.

When they reached the next set of stairs, Keladry moved in front of the DJPF officer. She approached the large window with a relaxed stride. Things had to be getting better. Ambulances and squad cars would be arriving, even more than before. They would cart away the offenders and care for the injured. A swarm of concerned people would surround their great President as he was taken to Emergency Intensive Care for his gunshot wounds. And then she would notice Lalasa, Roald, and the woman named K.J. by his side. They would guard him.

The sight she saw left her dumbfounded. When Joren and Owen came closer behind her, she found her voice. "They're… they're everywhere," Keladry said under her breath. She rested her hands on the glass. "Look at them all. This is unbelievable."

They gazed out the window. Silvery shapes moved against the night sky. Others stayed closer to the ground, blocking escape routes. Some dove close toward the mansion itself. They were airborne vandals. Shouts and cries from officers in distress came from below, on the ground where they were terrorized. Keladry closed her eyes against the depressing sight.

"What are we going to do?" Owen asked her as they backed away.

The normally patient young woman tensed. Why did he expect her to have the answers? "I don't know--"

A heavy tree branch crashing through the window interrupted her. A deafening shattering sound echoed in their ears. They automatically fell to the floor as the branch sailed over them and collided with the opposite wall. Tiny glass shards showered them. The three stunned people gaped at the broken window for a few seconds, seeing the attacking Immortal cackle and squawk.

Joren jumped up to his feet in fury. With him, he took up a hand-sized chunk of the branch that had come off. He used to clear away the sharp jagged pieces of glass left stuck to the windowpane. Then he dared to lean out and scour the sky with his eyes. Finally, he found what he was looking for. 

Rikash Moonsword beat his wings steadily, hovering just in the area thirty yards away from the window. He knew that Joren would try to shoot him. But Rikash was good at dodging. His cause was more important than those of his human keepers were. His was for freedom.

"He's something important," Joren whispered. He reached into his pocket for the vial he carried. For some extraordinary reason, his blood was singing in his veins. His heart was beating between his ears. A new wave of energy flowed through him like a rampant river, and no dam could hold it back. It was simply supernatural.

Owen recognized the Stormwing and started cursing. "Damn it! That's the beast from the fake forest!"

Joren narrowed his eyes. "He is, is he?"

With that, he bolted away from them, up the stairs. Keladry cried out in surprise. She and Owen started after him, but more adrenaline pumped through him. They could not catch up. Realizing this, their tired limbs refused to work and they slowed their pace.

"What is he doing?" Keladry shook her head as they caught their breath on the third floor. She sat on the steps. Owen sank down besides her, breathing hard. 

"Who knows? He must be on the roof by now."

"He knows something we don't," she said quietly. Keladry stared at the stairs where they had last glimpsed him bounding up, but nothing more remained but a dirty footprint-- a sign of his passing. She'd been as nervous before when Alanna had told her that Roger shot Joren. But now Joren was alive. He was better than alive… he moved as if in invincibility.

But she couldn't help being nervous. He was her partner. A rude jerk, who only made her feel insecure about herself when usually _she_ did that, whom she knew could be a better person, given the opportunity. Given the time, and the help… perhaps from someone willing to be patient. Someone, who didn't want to take charge, lest that someone ward him off, someone--

"You worried about him?"

Keladry didn't answer. But Owen knew what she was going to say anyway.

~~

The wind blew furiously on the rooftop. The concrete underneath his feet, and then his feet as well, disappeared, as he got further away from light fixtures. He faced the pitch-black night. No stars greeted him. Nothing but the howling winds. Joren's blonde hair whipped around his head. The chill crept into his body, after the overwhelming heat that caused him to open his black shirt earlier. 

One hand instinctively strayed to his gun, but that would be no good. The Stormwing had dodged Owen's attacks. Why wouldn't it dodge his, though his aim was better? A pang of helplessness struck, but he warded it off with the strange feelings in his body ever since he'd "woken" in the Immortal habitats. If only he could figure out why he felt this way. Perhaps he could use it more to his advantage. All he knew was that the Immortal from the forest had something to do with it. He was a key piece to the enigmatic puzzle.

"Foolish man. What do you want?" Rikash asked disdainfully. He perched on the side of the building, boldly exposing his rear flank to snipers along the ground. His brethren would take care of them. His attention was on the mortal man.

The blue-eyed human stood taller. "Stop this nonsense. Roger Conté is dead, and so is Ozorne Tasikhe. Who do you follow?"

"Why, we follow ourselves," he answered. And then he attacked.

Joren's eyes widened. He violently twisted to the side as Rikash dove by, his talons stretched out to claw at the human man. A horrible screech pierced the air as the Stormwing gained altitude and made a wide turn. Instead of swooping back down as Joren expected, he lingered high above. It was as if he were regarding him like prey-- a tiny field mouse being hunted by the owl at night. But his chosen prey was belonging to man, and not rodents. Ironically, the mere mortal predatorily watched Rikash above.

The moon revealed itself then. It cast eerie shadows and haunting illuminations across the estate. The silvery feathers of the large creature looked even sharper than before. One strike from a wing would rake gashes across his body like none he'd ever felt. Eventually, Rikash began to laugh.

"Do you find something to your amusement?" Joren asked calmly.

"It is because of me that you live, yet you…" Rikash stifled his uncontrollable snickers. "You act as if you have the power to defeat me! When that power is _my own_!"

"What do you mean, Stormwing?"

"You will know soon enough!"

Joren drew his gun. Though his chances of hitting his elusive mark were slim, he fired away. There was nothing left to lose. After all, he should have been dead. If he had to go out a second time, he'd go fighting. And he'd win first. The gunshots were loud; bursts of light from the barrel of the gun as the bullet sought its target. 

Rikash flapped his wings heartily once, then twice. Then he dove towards him like a torpedo in water. This time, Joren could not move in time. Though he changed his direction twice, Rikash rammed into him and knocked him off his feet. His human opponent wasn't to be taken lightly though. Joren kicked straight up in the air, striking the right wing as it went past.

Blood trickled down from his hairline, to his right eye so Joren had to blink. His bare forearms were covered with scratches, like he'd purposely dragged himself through a large thorn bush. Red blood, his blood.

"My blood," he thought, a bit perplexed by the statement. The first word-- the one saying it was his-- did not feel right. The more he stared at the thin red lines, slowly getting thicker and thicker, the more he began to understand. He numbly reached into his jacket pocket for what he hoped would save him.

"You'll regret that, human," Rikash threatened. "I'll get my freedom from your filthy race if it's the last thing I do."

Freedom? Joren's hand closed around the vial in his pocket, but he briefly focused upon the mix of hatred and determination upon his Immortal opponent's face. Though it was not in his nature to be a peacemaker instead of a soldier, Joren thought better of it and spoke. "The President will grant you your freedom of the labs and underground forest. Just call off your people."

"Ha! Do you think he'll actually do that? Think, man," he hissed. "We are Immortals. Whoever has us has power. Your President would not let us out of his site, for fear of what others could do with us in their possession."

"Power, my ass," Joren muttered. 

The Stormwing heard him. "Though we cannot dodge missiles, or fight the naval battles, be assured that we can do much with our other… skills." He flew a little closer and landed on the edge of the roof opposite Joren. "Your President would use the excuse of protecting us from the paparazzi and foreign powers to shove us down in that place with the fake sun. I want the real sun. I want the same sun that you have. And then I'll stop fighting."

He sprung into the air, ready for another swoop. This time, his knifelike feathers-- crafted especially by the human scientists-- would drag across Joren's throat. He promised himself that. But before he could get high enough into the air, Joren yanked out the cork from the vial of Rikash's blood and drank it.

"No!" Rikash screeched. He dove down towards him. Joren did not finish the vial. He'd only drunk half. Quickly, he replaced the cork in the vial and stuffed it in his pocket. He could feel the blood burning down his throat. It was so bitter, and it made his insides churn. Already, the sensation spread throughout his body. Instead of strengthening him, the blood made him cry out in pain for trying to adjust so fast. 

And that was when Rikash collided with him and threw both of them off the roof. Joren hung on desperately to Rikash, encircling and arm around the bird creature's neck and biting his lip through the pain. Talons scratched at his legs, tearing up the fabric of the pants and making semi-deep gouges in his thighs. Despite all the struggling, Rikash stayed in flight. Joren weighed heavily upon him, but they weren't called Stormwings for nothing.

Or at least… that was how it was supposed to be. 

They rose higher into the air. The sounds of Rikash's brethren seemed distant. None of the squabbles between Immortal and mortal on the ground and in the air had any influence on the two grappling combatants. All of a sudden, Rikash balked. Joren was cutting off his air with his arm about his neck. The young man was no better off, the artificial metal feathers cutting him all over his body. 

They started to plummet towards the ground.

From a third story window, Keladry and Owen watched in shock. There were no words to yell-- no wind within them for which to scream or cry out. Elsewhere, the others looked up as well. Anguish found its way into each of them, despair close in behind. Each held their collective breaths, waiting for the two to hit the ground. And most likely, die.

Joren ripped a savage cry from his throat, the dozens of blade feathers cutting him. Rikash could not get them back into the air, no matter how hard he beat his wings. Nor could he shake his unwanted human passenger. They spun so those at any one given time Rikash was on the bottom to hit the ground first. At other times, Joren was to hit the ground first. In either case, there wasn't any likelihood they would live with the other one cushioning their fall. 

It was particularly worse for Joren both ways. There was no way he could use Rikash to break his fall without accidentally driving a metallic feather into his body, if he was very unlucky-- his heart or a vital organ. His soul tried to calm him. After all, he should have been dead. Being dead again would not make a difference. It could not. His mind, however, was screaming. All his nerve endings stung with biting pain. 

The pain… there was nothing but the pain. There wasn't anything before it, and there would be nothing after it. 

His body throbbed in all the places where'd his flesh had split open, where the skin had been breached. Tender pink flesh exposed to the scalding cold air, boiling blood in an icy body. Every single cell in his body was on fire. And if anything, he hated the fire the most. Years old scars would tell that story every time he looked in the mirror. 

Time slowed down. The fall was taking forever. At their original height, it ensured a painful death. Joren could break his neck, and not die, but slowly suffer until his heart could not take it any more and gave out. Like it did the first time. His heart… 

"My heart… is already dead," he whispered to himself, his eyelids fluttering. And then came the ground.

~~ 

The Stormwings saw their leader fall and die. They started perching in trees, quitting their barrage of attacks upon the two-legged people. There were howls and wails of mourning for Rikash Moonsword. They hid their heads beneath their wings. None of their people had been killed-- none but he, son of the first and only matriarch who became dead to them because of the scientists in one of their experiments. 

Each one of them began remembering Rikash as he was, father to many, brother to many. Protector and guide to their unsure and angry minds. Director of their liberation who tolerated humans such as Roger so that they may have a chance to fly in the sky they craved. Though some had never seen the sky before, flying in it seemed so natural that they could never bear to go back underground ever again. And that would not happen.

The humans, who had lost plenty men, stood quietly. They knew not who the pale skinned young man in shredded and bloody clothing was. Nor could they bring themselves to grieve him. Exhaustion was just too much for them to do anything but collapse or lean upon something rather than stand in reverent solace. 

Joren slipped into peaceful oblivion, his warm blanket of comfort that wrapped around him. The moon reflected light from the sun, which was facing the opposite side of the world, onto his face. The light he sensed through his eyelids. His chapped lips parting a bit to press against his palm.

And in his partially gloved hand-- shards of the broken glass vial and the blood of his enemy, who was not really so.

Their combined blood seeped into the earth.

~~

"_No!" _Keladry screamed from the window. Tears threatened to flood her eyes, but she forced them back. She was not going to cry… not then-- ever. Besides, if Joren could come back from the dead once, he could do it again… Something inside of her cursed her for lying to herself, as she gazed upon his limp, quiescent form. 

Owen touched her shoulder and bade her to turn away. 

"Kel."

She nodded, and waved him off. Firmly setting her expression so to be stronger than she truly was, Keladry marched with Owen down the damaged stairs, head held high. She took deep breaths, ready for whatever came next. Stormwings, or the Devil himself… it didn't matter to her. She could take on the world from there and never run out of spirit or anger to fight them.

But she could run out of heart because at the moment, she was indeed heartbroken inside. It was the laboratory all over again when everyone had stood silently, already giving respectful the loss of Joren Stone before they saw his corpse. And as it was before, she would not accept anything until she walked up and felt for his pulse. 

~~ 

Keladry took up every ounce of strength in her body to keep still in the gold cotton cloth cushioned chair she sat in on the platform. Her formal uniform for parades and banquets didn't feel right. She missed the Hyperion bands wound around her limbs and the form fitting material that would allow her to move as lithely and gracefully as she chose. In the stiff collared shirt, she could not move. Her neck felt strangled by the mandatory ladies' scarf held in a fancy ruffle by an official Dominion Jewel Protection Force pin. Her feminine jacket was not so feminine to make her gag, but it was formal and stiff, and thick and she could not bear it for much longer. 

At least she was wearing pants, and not a skirt like some other women officers opted to do. And they let her keep her field gloves on. The blue diamond shapes over her knuckles made her feel a bit more at ease. Her hair had been cut again back to under her ears. So much time in the sun had put even more streaks of strawberry blonde through light brown. She wouldn't be surprised if there was some coppery red strands on her head as well. She'd like red hair, just like Advisor Alanna Olau Trebond who was seated on the other end of the platform from her.

"Is the Commissioner _ever_ going to stop talking?" Cleon silently mouthed to her from his seat next to hers. He was wearing a similar uniform, minus the scarf and replaced with a tie-- but with the same official pin. His wild red hair had attempted to be combed and gelled down, but halfway through Commissioner Wyldon's speech, it had come undone and was unruly again. From the front row of the indoor amphitheater's audience, Faleron could not help but make silent teasing gestures at the spectacle of the wavy red hair all about the sharpshooter's head. Roald was stifling his laughter, not able to keep from glancing at Faleron's humorous, but tiny movements. Lalasa rolled her eyes at all three men, making a mental note to smack them all upside the head later. 

All their friends were dressed in formal clothing. Faleron and Roald wore tuxedos and Lalasa a new gown given to her as a gift from Daine Sarassri. When not laughing and joking around at such a serious occasion, they held looks of pride and congratulations for their two friends on the stage.

Neal and Owen were seated in a section reserved for DJPF Officers only. They were wearing their uniforms and wide smiles on their faces. Keladry wondered briefly out of character if she should make a small bet with Cleon to see which of the two young men got up first and made fools of him with ridiculous and rowdy behavior.

Elsewhere, Numair and Daine were seated in a section belonging to the High Council. Usually, the President, Vice President, and their families would be with them, but because of the latest interrogations, they were detained back at the reconstructing Presidential Estate. 

After a few minutes, the commissioner made his closing and bowed his head. The audience clapped. "And now, may I present a man who needs no introduction, Mr. George P. Swoop, First Advisor to our esteemed President."

George got up from his seat next to his wife and strode towards the podium with a smile on his face. "Good evening, ladies and gentleman. We have finally come to the most important part of this wonderful event. The honoring of heroes."

He swept an arm toward them. She nodded her head to the seated people who began to clap. Beside Kel, Cleon gave a little informal wave that won a few approving from more common and not aristocratic members of the audience.

"In the face of danger and corruption, they had a choice. This choice was to either pretend they'd never heard what they heard-- seen what they seen or… hold true to their beliefs in what was right. As you can see, they made the latter choice. Otherwise, they wouldn't be here and we'd all be slaving to dictators, eh?"

Mild laughter erupted from the large audience. Alanna rolled her eyes at her husband's usual routine of making the audience laugh and never giving a completely serious speech in his life (_she_ had done _those_). George continued while resting his hands folded behind his back. After a few minutes, he started moving left of the podium, but still talking into the microphone.

"And so, it is my honor to reinstate into the Dominion Jewel Protection Force, Cleon Kennan, and to promote him to First Class!" 

Applause greeted Cleon as he stood up from his chair and walked over to the podium. He shook hands with George.

"Congratulations."

"Thank you, sir." Cleon saluted. George saluted back and handed him a clear case with a new Pager ID inside, completely programmed with First Class settings. The redhead stared at it for fifteen long seconds, biting his lip. Then he looked up at the hundreds of people waiting for him to speak. "What can I say… wow, this pager looks cool…"

More and more laughter came from the people because of his unceremonious speech, not being intimidated by the ceremony to make him rigid and classy. He fingered his tie a bit, loosening it from his neck. Then he cleared his throat. 

"A lot of times, I was torn between what I thought I knew to be my life, and whatever was thrown in my face. The… the confusion and the pressure you get from this stuff gives you huge headaches. Often, I wanted to just forget it all and go back to the world I knew. Where there weren't secrets among high officials and no plot to overthrow the government." He paused. "But I couldn't live that life. Not because I had the courage to defy the odds… not because I had an overwhelming sense of…" he searched for the word in his mind. The impromptu speech was going better than he hoped. "Of duty, but because… well… I had pestering _friends_ who had courage to defy the odds and overwhelming senses of duty."

There was more laughter. Faleron could not shake the mirth from his expression.

"I think I'll save myself the trouble of mortifying embarrassment and hurry up," Cleon nervously chuckled. He cleared his throat again. It was remarkable how dry it was. "In short, I thank you all for honoring me with your applause and respect. I don't think I'm worthy of you fine people's approval, but hey. It's your choice. Haha!" he grinned. "You don't know how much this promotion means to me. I thought I'd take a decade and more to get up to First Class. Seems all a man has to do is save the world!"

This time, everyone joined in on the laughter, even those onstage. Cleon raised his hand for them to quiet down. George was slightly jealous at all the half-jokes that the redhead had gotten away with. He would ask some of his comedic advice after the ceremony.

"Most of all, I'd like to thank my friends, who were there with me." He set his eyes upon the front row, noticing how Faleron's fingers tightened around the armrest. "They're the dose of sanity in my life, and I'm pretty sure I'm the dose of insanity in theirs. Once again, thank you."

He shakily walked back to his seat and plopped down beside Keladry. He glanced at her appreciatively and squeezed her offered hand. George walked back up to the podium and began introducing her. 

"Keladry Mindelan went to the Academy at an early age, when most officers would have started in their late teens-- perhaps not even until adulthood. She breezed through all the required courses with extensive studies and early tests. She holds the record for the shortest time at the Academy and apprenticeship at the capital city of Tortall's DJPF Headquarters. Not only that, but she volunteered to take on all the toughest assignments since then to continually up herself to the class she is in right now." He paused and turned to the side. "Alanna, dear, you better watch out. She might become more famous than you, and then where will my reputation be?"

Alanna laughed aloud, her mouth wide open at her husband's jest. "Your reputation? You think mine would be damaged enough because of _you_!"

"Darling!" he melodramatically gasped. Everyone laughed at the two's antics. He shook his head. "Yes, yes. So it is again my honor, to reinstate one of the finest officers Tortall has ever known, Keladry Mindelan!"

Taking a deep breath, she got up and approached the microphone.

"Thank you everyone. I'm not sure of what I can say that you haven't already heard from Officer Kennan. Thanking my friends, who didn't let me down… they deserve to be up here and receiving ranks in the DJPF, too. But they've already told me they prefer to stay civilians and not have their faces on any newspapers."

She took fifteen seconds to reflect on her hectic life. "And as Officer Kennan mentioned, the confusion and the ceaseless trouble we ran into kept us awake a lot of hours of the day. Sometimes, there were brief interludes where things seemed normal and happy, and then an hour later, we were fleeing for our lives. There were many temptations to just stop and attack the most obvious enemy. But now I have learned that even the greatest people have their flaws and bad effects. 

"Our President, as you all know," her voice became more even, "must answer to the Council now for the Immortals experiments. But with all the things that have happened to me, I hold no hostility for it. I would greet our President as respectfully and loyally as anyone else because I know he thought he was doing good and that any pain inflicted he is willing to take responsibility for."

She hesitated. "I guess all that's left to say is that I'm going to use this second chance now, to definitely be more careful of more than meets the eye. And to fight for those who need protecting, just as I've always done. Thank you."

There was a long period applause here, since Cleon and she were the only two officers on the platform. Commissioner Wyldon stood this time, his brow furrowed. He frowned a bit, before coming to the microphone. He adjusted it so he could speak into it without lowering his head. 

"And now, the DJPF would like to reinstate a final officer who is not present tonight." Here a hush fell over the theater, since they had been in the fading bits of chatter and applause. "

He was a special operative who for the latter of his career, was stationed in Tusaine until I brought him here to work some missions with Officer Mindelan." The middle aged man sighed. He seemed to be recalling something from way back in his memory. "When I first traveled to Tusaine to see this young man I'd sent there straight from the academy, I could not believe the severity of his personality, nor the fact that he could not disappoint me. He mastered so many things that I was impressed beyond words. And I'm still awed by his performance these past weeks in the crisis that overtook our country.

"And as a whole nation, we shall keep him to memory, even when years pass and heroes come and go. This one… This one we knew as a normal man with no desires. And yet, desired all the safety in the universe for us." 

He held his chin up high and said with a flourish, "I hereby instate Joren Stone."

Keladry shut her eyes tightly. The noise of the audience still reached her ears, but her eyelids burned from the bright lights overhead. She willed herself to open her eyes and also clap. Cleon's face was expressionless, clapping as automatically as the other people were in the amphitheater.

~~

"That was a nice ceremony. Lots of people turned out," Lalasa commented as they picked up samples of food from the tables. Cleon, Neal, and Owen were having a contest to see who could stack the most hors d'oeuvres on their tiny plates. The dark haired young woman rolled her eyes for the billionth time that night, chastising them on their behavior. Roald opted to remain quiet. He was too busy searching the crowd of people for K.J. She'd arrived to the ceremony with Numair and Daine, and he had some questions for her. Keladry was talking to the two Presidential Advisors, showing signs of forced happiness.

Cleon lost the contest. He started to actually eat the food on his plate and told the other two he'd wander around a bit. Neal and Owen gave each other high fives. Commissioner Wyldon saw and glared at them. The two officers snickered and sneaked off to find more mischief. 

"Where's Fal? I'm bored…" the redhead thought. He spotted his dashing friend a few feet off, deep in conversation with some Officials working for the High Council. His charm was at work again, having been discarded from his mind for so long to make room for survival knowledge. It had been so hard for Faleron at first, to get back his old clever and charismatic attitude. But judging from the way the older men and women were reacting to his words, he'd gotten back into the groove. Every expression that flickered over his face was calculated and placed for certain emphasis on certain topics. Cleon couldn't have been happier to see him that way again.

He finished his plate of food. He thought he should go back and pick up more, but reminded himself that he was wandering. A waiter came by and took his plate. Now that he was free to roam around the bright Victorian styled room without the dish, he put his hands in his pockets and headed toward the bay windows.

A familiar person was sitting on the satin window seats. His heart skipped a beat. 

"K.J.? Is that you?" he asked, squinting. The mysterious woman in a long black gown with a simple white shawl scattered with tiny pearls looked up. If only her face would light up when she saw him. But in fact, she cringed.

"Oh, it's you, Kennan." 

He pouted at her immediate reaction. 

"It's that I hate these sorts of functions," she amended. "Dressing up. Bah."

He nodded. "May I sit with you?"

"I don't care. It's a public place, isn't it?"

"Cool!" he cheered enthusiastically. "So, what's new with you?"

"Nothing, really."

He scratched his head. It was going to be tough to coax her into an open-ended conversation. "So, do I get to find out more about you or do I have to ask Mr. Swoop?"

"I don't see why you're so interested."

"Aww, come on! You're an interesting person," he replied with a goofy smile on his face. "Tell me your plans now that there isn't much of anything to spy on in Tortall. Please?"

She gave a designated sigh. "Oh, all right." She thought for a moment. "If I'm not sent out of the city to foreign lands that need checking up on, then I'll be at Mr. Swoop's offices or with Ms. Sarassri's. She and Council Member Mr. Salmalin have hired your friend King."

"Fal? They hired Fal? But don't they know his theft record?" 

"Obviously, they think he deserves a second chance. Don't _you_ think he deserves one?" she narrowed her eyes.

"Of course! He's my best friend!" he answered a little indignantly.

"Well then. Back to the subject: I'll be doing odd jobs for the two Council members or the 1st Presidential Advisor. They need help holding the Stormwings in their habitats until interrogations are done and a decision is reached on what to do with them--" Here she started snapping fingers in front of his face. "Hey, hey, my face is up here, dolt. I thought I already taught you a lesson about staring at me last time, hmm?"

He blushed and corrected his line of vision. "Sorry."

"Men," she grumbled. Then she grabbed Cleon by the shoulder and moved him to his left. "Get out of the way! There he is!"

"Who?" 

"Roald. I must speak with him. You stay here, Kennan, I'll be back…" she hesitated. "Maybe."

With that, she got up and stalked over in the most fluid way a person had ever stalked anywhere. Cleon admired her for a bit longer, sighing and fantasizing of little scenes with a sunset and a beach. He wondered what Neal and Owen's opinion would be of her. Neal was a frequent flirt, more so than Cleon was, and he dragged Owen along with him many of those times. 

"Stop that train of thought," he told himself. "Neal might try to hook up with her when I point her out to him. Darn. Guess I'm on my own for this one."

He watched K.J. Her hair was pinned back on one side with a tiny collection of budding flowers. If only he could reach up and feel that soft hair. She still reminded him a Cheshire cat, playing with his head. Did she cast him those sidelong glances on purpose? Did she trace the hairline on the back of her neck to get his attention, then completely denounce him when they got into conversation? Did she purposely lure him and snare him only to leave him between that mechanical trap's jaws?

"The woman's simply intoxicating," he murmured. "And she despises my 'uncouth' behavior. Not that I blame her… God, why did there have to be such things as hormones?"

All of a sudden, Roald became pale. He stared at K.J. in some sort of disbelieving face contortion. He shook his head weakly. Now he squinted at her and reached out to touch her face. She let him and he traced her jaw. Then the Vice President's son traced his own. He gulped. Cleon could see his Adam's Apple rise and fall on the front of his neck. 

Cleon stood up and inched his way forward, behind her. "Perhaps I should just listen in a teensy bit."

"You're pale, Roald. I'll get you some punch. Stay here," K.J. commanded and went off in search of the refreshment.

The redhead took his opportunity and darted forward. "Psst! Roald, buddy, what did she tell you?"

"What?" Roald blinked. 

"Dude! Come on, man! Did she talk about me or something?" Cleon tapped his foot impatiently, keeping an eye out for the female they were talking about. "I can't tell you how much I'm attracted to her… She hates me!" he suddenly burst with a newfound passion. "No girl has ever hated me like that! I have to go after her!" He paused and added. "And don't listen to Kel or your girlfriend. I'm not just staring at her chest. Mind you, it's a bonus, but… she hates me! Score!"

The quieter boy frowned. "Um, I'm sorry. What are you talking about?"

Cleon growled in frustration. "K.J.! That resentful fox!"

"_Did you just call my sister a fox?!_" Roald yelled so loud so that the whole entire room heard him. 

Complete and utter silence. Cleon and Roald looked to each other. Cleon was shocked by the words that had tumbled out his companion's mouth. And Roald was shocked at himself for calling the whole room's attention. Every eye was on them-- even the servants who'd been commanded to always keep moving and working paused to stare at the two men. If someone were to drop a pin at that moment, it would be heard as clear as day. Cleon glanced around nervously at the gaping ceremony guests. 

"Is that the officer who just got reinstated? The one whom this party is for?" a high society woman whispered.

"And that's the Vice President Jasson's son!"

They cringed.

Lalasa excused herself from a group of people and stomped over to them. She took each man by the arm and yanked each man after her. "So _very_ sorry, everyone. I'll handle these two heathens. Please, go back to your conversations. Sorry!"

K.J., in the meantime, yawned and glanced at the old fashioned clock on the wall. She held a cup of punch in one hand, occasionally sipping from it as she spied the Carthakian woman drag the two self-humiliated men outside with her. Perhaps she should have picked a better time to tell her little brother. But then again, it would never have been that entertaining if she had chosen somewhere else. Numair, Daine, and George advanced toward her. 

"You couldn't have done this some other time?" Numair said, boring into her with his piercing eyes.

She shrugged. "I had to do it eventually. Better now than never, right? Maybe it will work to my advantage and brother dear will tell Cleon to back off from his sister. Who knows?"

George rubbed his temples. "For a spy, we really need to work on your people skills."

~~

Outside, Lalasa tried to keep from screaming her head off at them. Her tanned face had turned a strange shade of red. "What is wrong with you? What are you doing?"

Roald pointed at the door that led inside. "K.J. is my sister! Her… She says her name is Kalasin Jasson!"

She blinked. "And you believe her?"

"She looks like me a little too much," Roald told her. They started a private conversation while the third person just stood there dreaming of creamy, silky skin that was soft under his hands. And the smell of dark, wavy hair and eyes he could drown in.

"Kalasin… Oh, that's a beautiful name. Too bad she hates me." Cleon smiled as he started toward the party again. Lalasa grabbed hold of his arm and dragged him back.

"Wait a second, buster. You apologize for calling that girl a fox."

"Not girl. She's actually older then me, Lalasa," Roald corrected. 

Cleon grabbed his arm. "Really? So, like… older woman? So that means-- OW! 'Lasa!" He rubbed the back of his head, wondering if he'd get a lump later. "I'm sorry!" 

"Men," she muttered. "Okay, okay. Let's go inside. Roald, you'd better ask that woman for some solid evidence."

When they entered again, Faleron, Neal and Owen were waiting for an explanation. Cleon recounted the current events with a few interjections (of the punching kind) from Lalasa, though she smiled sweetly to the people around her who gave odd looks at them.

"But how did that happen?" Faleron asked. "Did your parents just abandon her when she was born because they were looking for a son or something?"

Roald shook his head. "She's really my half sister. My father," he stopped. He willed himself to speak. "My father had an affair, but when there was news that a girl was produced because of it, he took it upon himself to see her to a place where she would be properly taken care of."

"Ooh… scandalous," Neal wiggled his eyebrows. Lalasa elegantly elbowed him in the ribs.

"What about Kalasin's mother then?" Owen inquired.

"Didn't want Kalasin, apparently."

Cleon wondered how that much could be said in the little time that Kalasin and Roald had spoken to each other. But knowing how blunt she was, she probably just started and didn't stop until it was all out… in record breaking time. And the poor young man had just stood there, trying to comprehend the impact this would have on his life.

Lalasa took Roald's hand in her own. She started to lead him away "Come on then. If she's your sister, I suppose I should meet her." She froze. "Of course, I still don't believe that all of this is _true_ but we'll find out soon enough."

"Wow. That's just amazing," Neal commented. "So, like, K.J-- er, Kalasin has been watching over Roald the whole time?"

"Probably," Faleron replied. 

"Sibling devotion. Where else am I going to find that so perfectly in a female?" Cleon sighed. He slipped into his daze once again. The three other men exchanged looks. Faleron did his duty by reaching up and smacking his friend on the back of the head. "OW!"

"Wake up, Kennan. Now is not the time for dreaming."

Neal and Owen nodded agreeably. From the other side of the room, Keladry and the two Presidential Advisors headed towards them. When the young men saw the three, they promptly straightened up. Greeting formalities were exchanged until they all stood there waiting for the other to speak.

"Ahem, yes," George began after his wife nudged him in the side. "As you all know, the matter of what to do with the Immortals has yet to be decided."

"Oh, yes, I can't wait to hear what the Council has to say, Advisor Swoop," Neal said.

Alanna took over for her husband. "The Council presently is leaning toward a different solution. It was pointed out that the Stormwings have longed for their freedom from the underground living spaces. They want open skies. But how can we give them that when other evil-intentioned humans would want to hunt them for their rarity or otherwise? It's the same with the other Immortals."

"And what exactly is the solution?"

"We're granting a handful of kind scientists and some First Class DJPF Officers the chance to watch over the Immortals and lead them to some untouched land up north."

Faleron frowned. "How far up north?"

"The unmapped Roof of the World."

There was a collective gasp from the group. Owen's face lit up. "Really? I heard so many great things about the mysterious weather changes and… and… oh wow! I'd love to adventure up there!"

George whispered something into Alanna's ear. She nodded and smiled. "Would you like to volunteer to go?"

Without missing he beat, he answered, "You bet!"

"Owen," Neal interrupted. "But, bonehead, what about us? We'll all miss you."

The younger man with his dark curly hair seemed confused. "You missed me before when I transferred."

"Exactly. And to think that you'd be going into a new frontier instead of a new district like last time…? Are you crazy?"

"B-but…" he sniffled. "I want to go! It sounds so jolly!"

"Argh…"

Keladry smiled to herself as they started to argue again. She slipped away unnoticed. She hadn't spoke at all during that brief time. Keladry couldn't stand all the happiness and cheeriness anyway. Her mind was set on one thing. So, she went out the same back door that Lalasa had used earlier to drag Cleon and Roald out. She went through the alleyway and to the parking lot. No longer would Keladry have to bum rides or use the DJPF squad car. 

She had her bike, the beautiful hunk of metal given to her by her former partner. Perhaps if he'd been at the ceremony, they'd have remained partners, but the Commissioner professionally ended the partnership with his gratifying eulogy of a speech. Keladry straddled her bike. The reinstated officer paused for a few seconds, calming her self and taking deep breaths.

The ride to the Sam's shop was long. Sam was the man whom Joren had left her bike with. It turned out that Sam was not only a weapons dealer, but an ace mechanic as well, hence Joren's familiarity with him since he needed both services (though the weapons part was illegal since Joren should have gotten weapons issued from Headquarters). On the way, she started passing the time by counting the number of streetlights she passed. Then she went on to figuring out the pattern of red lights and green lights at the network of streets downtown. It was pathetic how she tried to ward off boredom sometimes.

~~

__

The man came back out with small black bags full of clips, then several different types of semi-automatic handguns. Then the man unlocked the display case and reached for another gun, this one silver. It reminded her of something else, but she couldn't place it. Not that it mattered- she had to get back to the battle.

"Give this to Stone," the man commanded, handing it to her. He shoved a first aid kit into the bags along with the other weapons.

~~

She still had that gun. A third class officer retrieved it from the tree that very night of the attack. After Rikash's and Joren's fall, they sent groups of officers to weed out the rest of the estate for anymore potentially troubling people or objects. The officer, remembering from the Wanted posters' information, assumed that the guns belonged to Cleon. The redhead was a sharpshooter after all. And the rookie officer also thought that the weapons were too good to get rid of, as the protocol commanded in standard DJPF procedure.

She was half in a daze when Keladry arrived at her destination. She planted one foot on the concrete while swinging her other leg over the seat. Then off came her helmet, to settle on top of the seat. No one would steal it, though it was a neighborhood with a reputation. The thieves had come to generalize that all bikers in Tortall were too tough to mess with. 

Ergo, leave all bikes the hell alone.

The light up sign was flickering. She pushed the door bar, admitting her entrance. The shop was poor. That was the reason there was not a sliding door. The place still smelled of cigarette smoke, gunpowder, and oil. The formerly white, now yellow linoleum on the peeled back in the corner. Glass cases of guns and all sorts of security alarms were scattered around the small shop. On the back wall hung accessories, and ads for other weapon related businesses.

"What do you want?"

Her head jerked toward the source of the voice. "Oh, hi, again. Remember me?"

"Yeah," he said gruffly. "So what do you want?"

She moved forward. She drew the silver gun meant for Joren from her holster and laid it down on the counter. He looked at her strangely. Her hands trembled a little. Keladry became mad at her self and stilled them. She cleared her throat distractedly.

"He won't be needing it."

Now the perplexity on the elderly man's face increased tenfold. "How can that be? Stone always needs 'em."

She cast her gaze on the floor, remembering what had happened. 

~~

__

The hospital was not a cheery place. Well, not the one they were in. There was too much of disinfectant and sterilization. It was strict white walls and floors, save for the emergency entrance where unbelievable things happened. The furniture in the lobby was meant to cheer people with its teddy bears and balloons patterns. But the number of grieving people for lost or injured loved ones menaced the scene. A large number of them had relations with those who fought on the Presidential Estate.

The morning after the battle, a tired Keladry came to visit Lalasa, Roald, and K.J. who were still with the President. First Lady Thayet and the other important officials were also waiting for the speedy recovery of their Commander in Chief. The bodyguards—second class DJPF Officers—changed every few hours to eat and sleep. They also brought food to those waiting in the lobby.

"So, who's left? Is Stone in IU?" Cleon asked.

She shrugged helplessly. "I left around 1AM when he got out of surgery. He was in critical condition." Her voice lowered. "It's a miracle he was barely alive. After that fall…"

It became awkwardly quiet. They lingered around the door to the lobby with nothing to say. Roald moved aside for a lady with dark circles under her eyes to move past. The door slid shut again, with the sound of a sealing vacuum. Air automatically blew down from the vents above, chilling their shoulders. The conversation was still down. Every single one of them wanted to be anywhere but there.

"I'll go check up on him," Keladry announced suddenly, feeling like she had to get out of the situation.

"Should we go, too?" Neal offered. He honestly wanted to help in any way that he could. But no matter how he helped, he felt so distanced from the people. And he hated that. He wanted to feel their pain so he could say that he had grieved as well. But he wasn't. None of them were, except Keladry. "I owe him. The jackass, I mean, guy visited me when I was sick, so—"

She shook her head. She remembered the incident completely different from the way he was telling the rest of them. Joren had done nothing but insult Neal while he was there. "No, don't."

He pouted, but he seemed happy that he didn't have to go without looking too insensitive to the others.

She trudged down the hall. A camera moved along the hallway wall on a track just above her head. When it received visual identification via the security monitor technicians on the second floor, the doors marked Intensive Care slid open, revealing a brightly-lit hallway. The sound of an air conditioning fan was present. The whirring noise was a constant hum in her ears.

A doctor in green O.R. scrubs walked out a room, two manila folders in hand and a standard stethoscope around his neck. He nodded warily to Keladry. Bags were under his eyes. By the exhaustion, she could tell he was one of the few doctors staying up all night helping the wounded from the Presidential Estate battle. At the very end of the hall, Special Type DJPF Officers were guarding the President's room. He had not suffered as much as they all thought, and would be healthy enough to undergo interrogation by the Council's chosen lawyers and jury soon.

Room 105 was her partner's room. The bold engraved number was above a door to her left. She paused before pressing the keypad. All of a sudden, she turned around and ran across the hall to an equipment closet. All janitorial closets and related function closets had regular swinging doors, and not sliding ones. Keladry frantically flung the door open and turned on the light. 

Was this same Keladry Mindelan, the first class officer and hero, a nervous and jittery young woman as well? She was so unsure of herself, and what Joren was bound to say.

" …You're nothing, Mindelan. You're a hero, they_ say. It doesn't matter. You're nothing. This world is nothing. I've faced enough shit from the world already. Why should I be apart of it anymore? Why the hell should you? Because you want all that glory and fame that Trebond gets? God, you're such a little child."_

She angrily kicked the metal rack on which pillows and sterile wrapped blankets were placed. Then she took a deep breath and marched out the closet. What did she have to be afraid of? Joren could say anything he wanted, treat her anyway he wanted, but he wouldn't haze her. She wouldn't let him. After all, she'd done her fair share of fighting. Luckily, no one had seen her strange behavior. It was hard enough explaining her feelings. 

She set her shoulders, raised her chin, and proceeded to Joren's door. She pushed the keypad buttons a little bit harder than necessary. With the familiar sound of air being let out a vacuum, the door slid open to the left. 

And in front, an empty bed greeted her. 

The white sheets looked untouched, not even slept in. The IV bags that were present at the bedside the night before was missing. Any bit of evidence of her blonde partner had disappeared. Perhaps she was in the wrong room. She had to be. But where else would they take Joren? Was he back into surgery? What else could they possible do to them besides cut him up and give him stitches?

A nurse with dirty blonde hair in a bun was carrying a heart monitor from a table to a cart. She looked up when Keladry entered while wheeling the monitor toward the back of the room. "Yes, may I help you?"

"Uh, yeah. I'm looking for Officer Joren Stone. He was in here last night just out of surgery."

The woman, probably in her thirties, polished her manicured nails to her blouse sleeve, yawning as she did so. "I wasn't here. I'm sorry." She dropped her hand. "Wait! Did you say Stone?"

Keladry nodded impatiently. "Where is he?"

The nurse bit her lip. She turned away from the officer to face the cart. "I'm sorry. They told me he was… gone."

"Gone?" she frowned. "So, he's out of critical condition?"

"No, no, sweetie. Er, he's gone."

And then Keladry, unable to take in the full meaning of the words, simply walked out. The nurse called back to her, trying to go after her, but Keladry broke out into a run. She had to tell the others the news. She wouldn't let it be done by some nurse who obviously didn't care what effect her news could have. Something told her that no one but her would care as much, but that didn't matter. For some godforsaken reason, she did care and the truth remained. 

He was gone.
    
    ~~

Sam, the mechanic and weapons dealer, had never seen someone so out of it in his full 54 years of life. He'd seen a lot of strange and terrible things. People who went into shock in the midst of a bloody, brutal invasion… sobbing mothers and children besides their houses—houses that contained bullet holes. Men who cried out to their loving mothers as they bled to death. The young woman in front of him, an officer by the way she was dressed so primly, was staring out into space, looking as if someone had just shot her sister… or possibly given her a root canal.

"Are you sure Stone won't be needing the Quicksilver?" he asked.

She blinked. At first, her confused eyes signaled that she didn't know where she was. Then it all came flooding back to her as reality set in. She sighed and pointed to the gun set on the counter. "Take it."

Keladry began to blink more rapidly. Her eyes felt so strange. "Just take it back. He won't need it. I'll pay you for keeping my bike. I appreciate the added features, too."

He started to chuckle. "Youth these days. Cracks me up. I'll hold the gun for Stone."

"Don't you get it?" She angrily leaned forward and grabbed the older man by his grease-stained shirt. She yanked him halfway over the counter. His beard hairs tickled her wrists from where they shown behind her gloves, but her fury did not let her notice it. Instead, she stared Sam straight in the eye and hissed. "I said that he wouldn't be needing it."

"And who said I wouldn't?"

Her eyes widened. She whirled around to see the speaker. "No…"

Joren moved forward and picked up the gun. He shined it with his sleeve. Then, he tucked it into the waistband of his black jeans. "Pay you later, Sam. Just ignore her."

"Right."

She stared at the newcomer with an open mouth. She could barely whisper. "Joren." Her eyes subtly became moist. She blinked some more. "But they said you were gone…"

He frowned-- Kel thought she'd never see that familiar frown ever again. "Who are you talking about?"

Her heart started beating faster. He was back from the dead. And he pretended as if nothing had happened at all. There he stood, in his black civilian clothes like he'd just come from the pub. "The hospital!"

"Oh. Well, yeah," he shrugged carelessly. "I broke out of there after I woke up from the stupid drugs they put me on. Wanted to test me after they found something strange in my blood." The corner of his mouth curled upwards in a secret smile.

Silence.

It was amazing how these many moments of silence had occurred in her life as of late. Keladry couldn't take her eyes off of him. Deep inside, she was afraid that if she let him out of her sight for a second, he'd be dead again. Then she would be disenchanted. He sensed her emotions, though he didn't want to, and decided to excuse them from Sam's gawking presence.

"See you," he said to the older man, who nodded curtly. He motioned for Keladry to follow him outside. As they exited the shop, she searched with her eyes for the Black Knight. It was nowhere to be found. Maybe he had hidden it in the back where it would not be seen. After all, if he'd sneaked out of the hospital, he must not want to be found.

"It's at HQ. Wanted to work on it a bit before riding again," he explained when he noticed her curiosity.

"Oh."

He removed the helmet from where it sat and tossed it to her. "We'll take yours. I don't feel like walking home, and I own this bike anyway."

She bristled, forgetting her awe and confusion at his appearance. "What do you mean, you own it?"

"I paid for it, remember?"

She thought back to the time when he had indeed purchased the bike for her on their first mission. An idea popped into her head. "If that's true, then I own your bike. I bought it back for you at Galla"

He straddled the bike and glanced over his shoulder. "Nice try. But I don't think so." He started it up. "Are you getting on or are you walking home, Mindelan? I couldn't care either way."

"Getting on," she replied and reluctantly seated herself behind him. A million memories flooded her brain. The wind blowing in her hair, the rapid pounding of her heart, the adrenaline coursing through her veins… arms encircling his waist, afraid that she may be thrown off. But he wouldn't let her fall. And she didn't.

This time, she kept her hands near his hips, refusing to get as close as they were that day. He'd hurt her, though he did not know that he did. His impassivity wounded her far worse than all the villains of the world. It wasn't fair. Did people call this justice? Was this why it was the subject of movies and soap operas? 

They rode in silence at a moderate speed towards the DJPF Headquarters. No patterns of stoplights occupied her thoughts now. Through the helmet's open visor, she studied his light blonde hair. The color was something you didn't see on a person past the age of two. After that, hair supposedly got darker. But not his. If his skin hadn't tanned slightly during their adventures, she would have asked if he or anyone in his family were albino.

The familiar buildings of the Dominion Jewel Protection Force loomed ahead. Joren sped up. The constant noise of the bike became a decibel louder. Both leaned into the next off ramp curve, out of habit, and leaned forward when they went up another ramp into the multilevel garage.

He parked the bike on the second level and turned it off. Keladry was eager to get off the bike and away from him. All these emotions welling up inside were bothering her. She had a simple life already. She worked for the DJPF. She had friends who cared about her. She'd improved a lot in the way of being a workaholic. 

He did not notice her apprehension. Instead, Joren stood where he was. The Special Operative eyed the bike, examining it like he was at a motorcycle showcase. He rested his foot against the back tire, lightly tapped it once with his toe before turning back to her expectantly.

"You missed the ceremony," she said flatly.

He noted her formal uniform attire. "What ceremony?"

"They reinstated me, Cleon, and you. Though, they thought you were… gone… and Commissioner turned it into a semi-eulogy. It was pretty horrible," she confessed. For some reason, she thought she would be blushing by now. Good thing she'd had practice in keeping her emotions hidden. It was becoming increasingly difficult.

He snorted derisively. "Figures. That's the old geezer for you."

She cleared her throat. "So, are you going to tell them you're alive and coming back to work?"

"Later."

"Oh." She folded her arms across her chest. They stood there. Nothing could be said. He looked around the garage, noting different cars, both squad cars and civilian vehicles. He looked as bored as she'd been at the ceremony. How could he just stand there like nothing had happened? Didn't he realize he'd died? Didn't that mean anything to him? "By Glory, do something! Do _anything_!"

He stared at her. "What the fuck is wrong with you? You want the patrol to come down here and bring me over to the main offices? Because they will, idiot. They won't believe I'm me because I'm still dead in their files until I officially report to Wyldon himself."

She winced as if he'd physically struck her. Evidently, she'd picked the wrong time to speak her mind.

"Now what the hell is this about?" he demanded with arms akimbo. 

Keladry couldn't meet his eyes. She lowered her gaze to the ground. "Nothing."

His eyes… why did he have to stare at her with those piercing eyes? Couldn't he just realize that she was being weird and leave her alone? She had to get out of there right then or else she was going to say something that she really wanted to keep to herself. Then Joren would get the idea that she… What was it? Why couldn't she just say it?

"I'm going up to my room," she said quietly. She walked past him toward the clear elevator shaft. Before she could step inside, he grabbed her wrist and spun her around. Her heart beat faster. Blood drained from her face. She was as pale as the moon, she bet, under the garage lights. 

He peered at her. After a minute of intense scrutiny, he sighed. "Aww, damn. You actually care, don't you?

"I have no idea of what you're talking about," she lied and tried to wrench her arm from him. He held tight and kept in her place. "Come on. Let me go. This isn't funny."

"Who said it was supposed to be?" he retorted. Now she assumed this was where he started to yell at her for being what she was. And for caring.

"I really have to leave, Stone. Stop it already. You're cutting off my circulation," she said a tiny bit stronger than before. He let her go. She started rubbing her wrist where he'd held her.

He casually put his hands in his jacket pockets. For the first time, she noticed that there was a name printed on the inside collar. It read: Jackal. She stared at it for the longest time, before he came closer to her.

She backed up a little, her back against the clear surface of the elevator shaft. "Uh…"

"Why do you care what happens to me?" he asked bluntly. His icy blue eyes met her hazel ones. 

She shivered involuntarily. "You're my partner. Takes too much time getting readjusted to somebody else."

"Is that all?" he asked. She trembled. His face was inches from hers now. She could feel the heat from his breath against her cheek like she was sure he could feel hers. Keladry would have given up her entire salary for anyone to bumble in that very moment and interrupt whatever was happening. Her heart was going a mile per minute. If Joren didn't back away soon, she was afraid that he would--

He kissed her. 

With his face tilted to the right, he gently leaned in and softly brushed his lips to hers. If Keladry had ever gone on a first date, she imagined this was what the kiss was properly supposed to be like. Sweet, unimposing, and short. It was nothing like the passion he'd shown her that fateful day in Galla when he poured out his heart to her in his attempt to grasp something alive and human within himself. 

There was no passion, no feeling in here.

She pulled away, swallowing nervously. Her eyes darted all around, hoping for anyone at all to walk in. She turned her head and looked into the elevator. It was empty. She cursed silently. Joren removed one hand from his pocket and cupped a side of her face. His hands were warm for once. She reveled in the feeling because it paralleled the sensation of his kiss.

"I'm only going to say this once, so you'd better appreciate it and not tell anyone else," he said to her calmly.

"Yeah?"

He paused. Then he leaned forward again so that their mouths were an inch apart. With all the quietness he could muster, he whispered to her, "Thank you."

He kissed her again. And this time, he blew her mind away. 

The texture of his lips was so unbelievable. He didn't press in as urgently and desperately as he had when tears had dripped from his cheeks. The urgency was replaced with a patient passion that welled up from within. The hand cupping her face moved to caress her shoulders and slide its way to her back. The other hand found its way out of his pocket and encircled her waist possessively, pulling her closer to him than before with her back still against the elevator shaft.

They caught a brief breath of air, then their lips met again and again and again. He spared her nothing. 

Keladry couldn't bring herself to believe everything that was happening. Joren Stone was kissing her on his own free will, with no emotional baggage to make him impulsively do it. He was making her tingle all over. Her head was dizzy, like champagne bubbles were popping in her head. She was drunk on the feeling. 

His embrace tightened. Having had no idea what to do, her hands had rested on his chest. No, they moved to encircle his neck, then tangle in his hair. She still had no idea what was wrong with him, but for once, she was just going to relax and enjoy it. With all her luck, she'd never get kissed ever again. So why not savor the moment, though false it may be?

His lips kissed a trail along her jawbone, then down her neck. By Glory, she wondered what he was doing. He unwound the scarf from around her neck and kissed the soft skin there. His hands traced patterns on her lower back. She shivered when his fingertips ran up and down her spine.

"Joren," she breathed. He silenced her again with another mind scrambling kiss. His tongue started to outline her lips. She briefly thought of movies and books where the men had used tongued the women. Keladry had always thought it vulgar and unrealistic. Most couples she knew existed just barely parted their lips let alone swap their spit. Not that she'd watched, but still. She could tell. Joren didn't do that. He mere outlined her soft pink lips and withdrew again to wet his.

It went on for so long. It had to be a dream. Nothing like this could ever happen to her. She was First Class Officer Keladry Mindelan. She didn't even have time for her family, let alone a love life. So how did she end up here? Why was she here? Couldn't she be in her dorm room, watching the latest in Tortall news? 

Her arms slipped back down from his neck again as he loosened his hold on her. His fervent actions slowed down, returning to the innocent style of before. Finally, he stopped and nuzzled her neck.

"Keladry," he whispered to her.

"Hmm…" she had no voice was which to speak. Her mind was blank except for the euphoric scene that just occurred replaying itself over and over in her head. 

The tip of his nose touched her ear. Out of the corner of her vision, she saw him smirk.

"By the way… that was a mistake."

She froze.

He pulled away quicker than her brain could register, and nonchalantly strode into the elevator behind her. She heard the click of the buttons as he pushed them. Her eyes widened. She reacted.

"YOU ASSHOLE!"

He lifted one eyebrow skeptically. "What did you expect? I'd turn over a new leaf? Honestly Mindelan, where's your common sense, hmm?"

She fumed at him, trying to form sentences to scream, but none could get past her now pursed lips. She seethed with fury towards her sly partner. She stomped into the elevator with him, winding back an arm to wipe that smirk off his face. 

He caught her fist as easily as if she were some new rookie in the training center with Eda Bell and Hakuin Seastone. Her skill had gone down to non-existent because her anger was clouding her reasonable thoughts. 

"You jerk, I can't believe you just did that!" she yelled as she yanked her hand back.

The elevator began to move up. He shrugged and challenged her with his casual expression to try something else. She couldn't, because she knew he'd only tease her more. No one had ever riled her temper like this. Maybe her whole world would really have been better off without him.

"Mindelan, Mindelan," he chided. "What a change is here!"

"You're one to talk," she muttered. They reached the bridge to the main building. The clear door parted for them, but they continued to stand where they were. A few posted lights from above provided interesting shadows to play across them. One covered his smirk. She was glad she could not see it then.

Nothing happened. Joren rolled his eyes. "So, what now?"

She marched past him. "I'm going to bed. Who needs enemies when I've got you as my partner?"

"You're just mad because I can make you shiver."

Keladry angrily glanced over her shoulder. "You're proud of that? By Glory!" 

"Uh-huh. Whether I'm scaring the hell out of you, or sending you into euphoria…"

"Twisted mind, you have, Stone," she growled, picking up her pace as she furthered the distance between her and him on the bridge. He easily caught up, which only angered her further.

Joren shrugged his shoulders again. "I like to think everyone's a little twisted inside. Especially me." She stopped in her tracks. He stopped two steps ahead of her and whirled around. "What?

She folded her arms across her chest. "So what does that kiss mean? Are you messing with me or do you… possibly…"

"You tell me."

And with that, he left her as confused as ever.

~~

As soon as she entered her room, she leaned against the door and let out a deep sigh. It had been a long day-- a long and _confusing_ day. She stretched her arms over her head and recalled everything that had happened.

Roald and Lalasa met his sister. Cleon became infatuated with Roald's sister. Neal remained as carefree and fun loving as always. Owen got himself a ticket to the greatest adventure in the world. Faleron's depression seemed gone for good, now the clever young man that everyone knew. Numair Salmalin and Daine Sarassri were handling the President's dilemma. Thom Trebond was finally home, taking his seat as the Head of Science once more. The Immortals were getting their freedom. The villains were either dead or apprehended. She'd even met and befriended Alanna Olau Trebond. 

And then there was Joren.

"I never know whether I'm coming or going with that jerk," she said to herself. But then she decided that it wasn't necessarily a bad thing. After all, it could be worse.

Fin

~~

Author: There we are, the end of the first season of It Could Be Worse! Now, why am I calling it a season? Some of you haven't caught on yet the purpose of calling these episodes instead of chapters. And this is the reason. *smiles* Besides, this allows me to continue my story as long as I want to! I now have a reason to hang about the Tamora Pierce section of ff.net forever as a permanent resident author. I was afraid I wouldn't be able to think of any new and original stories starring Keladry and Joren (the most UNLIKELY couple of Tortall). Continuing ICBW is much easier. 

I didn't think a futuristic Tortall would hit it so big. Ever since I started the whole entire K/J revolution with A Life Less Ordinary, my writing world has been turned upside down. I can't believe my life since then. So many authors have started writing K/J because of me. I can't help but tear up *sniff* and say how proud I am of them-- well, except for those who don't do the generic plot lines. Ex: "how can I hide my feelings for her while pretending to hate her and beat her up all the time?" and "If you suddenly kiss me for no good reason, I won't question it and just kiss you back like the author wants, Joren". 

Just remember that memo that Jae and I made a while back about the rising populace of different types of fics and how generic some themes are becoming (I honestly swear that if I see another transportation fic without a REALISTIC reason. (Unrealistic meaning: wow! I just walked across the street and the whole world changed! I bumped into the Lioness! Oh crap, this is so cool! I think I'm going to run around and tell everything I know to everyone here so they can throw me in the loony bin! No, wait, they wouldn't do that! Because in Tortall, they don't question anything! They actually believe me, and don't take offense at my rowdy attitude. No guards will try to cut _my_ head off while I mouth off at the characters I've despised…)

But… hey! If I just offended somebody, please, don't take it seriously. 

****

It's all good. 

Please, just _think_ before you throw a story out there, huh?

I'd like to thank all the wonderful people who read my stuff (psst… that's you) and those who have helped and supported me through this time. Thanks to Newyn, for taking care of my web page more than _I_ do. Thanks to Jaelawyn Noble, for being my main test audience (and partner in crime, muahahaha!). And if I've forgotten anyone, I appreciate you, too, so don't pout. 

And seeing that I've successfully completed my first season, I'd like to take a mini vacation. Yes, that means I'll be gone for about… two weeks. Maybe three. *shrugs* But I am in need of REST! School still sucks! And then, all the other activities I'm in take up a lot of time! You don't know how busy I get! (Except for you, Lego-san… er… I mean, Legato-san. *SMACK* Ow!) 

But don't fret! *Arnold Schwarzeneggar voice* I'll be back. *regular voice* Yeah! And I'll have ALLO and the first season of ICBW posted on my web page hopefully, much more convenient than reading at ff.net because I'll be including pictures and music. So, when I say at the end of every story "Go see my web page!" You really should. Just go to my profile and click the link. 

Once again, many thanks, many good wishes, and many hours of sleep,

Sulia Serafine

P.S. I won't leave you empty handed while I'm on vacation. I've conveniently written up a whole entire episode for bloopers. Yes, you read that right. Bloopers. Give me a week from this posting, and I'll have 'em up.

   [1]: mailto:silverwLng@aol.com



	22. Bloopers

It Could Be Worse:

It Could Be Worse:

The Bloopers

By Sulia Serafine

[A Protector of the Small fanfic set in an alternate universe; all credit goes to Tamora Pierce. I'm broke, so you can't sue me.

Oh, one more thing: BAD LANGUAGE (I. E. cursing, swearing…). You have been warned!

E-mail me at [silverwLng@aol.com][1], okay?

(Episode 1: Best of the Best; scene: cafeteria at DJPF headquarters)

"I'm not saying that I was, dummy!" the younger, shorter one replied. He sighed. "I also overheard that they were going to transfer me to A district. I won't be a B officer soon."

"What!" Neal exclaimed. "They can't divide the three of us up! Don't they know what they're missing out on here? True friendship, true--"

"Goofiness," Keladry smirked. "Maybe they want to keep _you_ from becoming too childish. Separate the children just like a mother would, and they'll concentrate on their work."

Neal folded his arms. "Well _I_ still think it's unfair." He turned to Owen. "I'm going to miss you, buddy. Who else will accompany me when I go to the lounge to pick up chicks?"

Commissioner Wyldon ran onto the set, waving his arms. "Ooh! I will! I haven't had a date in about… ten years, but that's okay! I can learn all over again!"

Neal blinked. He turned to Keladry, who shrugged, and then to Owen, who was biting his lip so not to laugh. Finally, he sighed and nodded his head. It was a bad idea to deny the boss anything. "Um, okay. Whatever you say, sir."

"All right! Now, where do you kids hang out? Is it still the laundry room, eh?" He elbowed Neal jokingly. A never before seen grin plastered his face. "In _my_ day, everybody took frequent trips _there_, if you get my meaning…"

"Er," Neal paled slightly. The thought of Wyldon as a young man was disturbing, if not horrifying. "Um, not really, sir… Uh…C-commissioner!"

The girl whose butt was just pinched turned around and slapped the commissioner, while the aged man whooped and burst into laughter. Neal threw his hands up in the air in a surge of frustration and annoyance. He took off his uniform jacket and threw it on the ground. 

"I can't take this anymore! Can we do this scene over?"

"CUT!" the director yelled as he raced back onto the set. He had only been gone for twenty seconds to get a piece of Danish from the food table and now everything was falling apart. He looked back and forth from each actor. Then he glanced about at the cameras and the lighting. 

"Wait a darned second…" He walked up to Commissioner Wyldon and cleared his throat. "Excuse me."

"Yes?"

In one swift motion, the director reached up to the edge of the other man's face and tugged sharply. He peeled off the mask to reveal Cleon, not the Commissioner. 

"I knew something was different. For one thing, Wyldon does _not_ wear sneakers. I assume you couldn't wait until episode four to show up?" the director said dryly. He dropped the latex mask on the floor and waited patiently for a reply from the offender. Everyone on the set gasped. The other actors groaned. They'd have to shoot the scene again. The only person smiling was Cleon. The tall redhead blushed and waved at the camera. 

"Hi, Mom."

(Episode 2: The Guy With The Bike; scene: outside at the loading area)

"Hey!" she called over to him. When he didn't approach her, she pushed off the crates she was leaning on and came to him. Before Keladry could talk, he spoke with evident irritation.

"If you're going to hit on me, save yourself the trouble and walk away. I don't care for flirtatious girls, who don't know a damned thing about hard work," he spat. His voice was sharper than the finest chef's knife. Keladry folded her arms.

"No," Keladry replied, although annoyed by the hostility of his response. "I'm Keladry Mindelan. And you're obviously--"

He stood with his feet a little ways apart, his face tilted towards her in a model-like fashion. He casually held his helmet still tucked under one arm. With the other hand, he drew sunglasses from his jacket pocket and put them on. It was then that she noticed the gold Rolex on his wrist. "The name is Stone. Joren Stone."

She blinked. "Right…" Keladry knew this wasn't supposed to be like this, but maybe she could save the scene. So, she cleared her throat and continued. "And I said I'm Mindelan. Keladry Mindelan."

He snorted in a lightly mocking, but not snobbish way. "No. I don't think so."

"Excuse me?" she frowned in confusion.

"From now on, your name will be Moneypenny."

"_What_?" Her jaw could have hit the floor, had she the characteristics of cartoons.

"Yes, yes… now where is Q?" He walked past her, scouring the crowds with his eyes. His voice had all of a sudden turned deeper, and fuller. It was husky, and _all_ man.

Keladry followed him, arms folded across her chest. The female officer was stifling every urge she had to punch him or kick him. She peered at him with concern instead. "Are you sure you're feeling well? Maybe you'd like some tea or some sort of drink?"

Joren turned to her, a sly smile lighting up his face. Generally suspicious of his motives, she stepped back. He chuckled and started to inadvertently pose again. "Make sure it's shaken, not stirred."

"Okay," she replied uneasily. Under her breath, she muttered, "Weirdo."

"Aren't you charmed with me? Most of the girls are," he said with a cocky tone. He turned to another angle and shot a subtle pose once again, winking at the people around him. "How about a death defying motorcycle chase around Headquarters? Maybe…you would like to scale the walls with me to sneak into the top-secret office of the commissioner, where the cute girl is being held captive? Come now, Moneypenny, say something."

A wide range of emotions surged across her face. Her normal act should have ensured impassivity and unrevealing feelings, but the situation was not by any ways normal. She couldn't hold it in anymore. She burst into laughter, doubling over with her hands on her stomach. They curled around further so she was clutching her sides. Keladry even paused halfway and took a large breath. And she continued to guffaw so unladylike that the classy make-up artists on the sides of the set shook their heads. 

"CUT!" the director, yelled. The angry man grabbed his hat from off his head and threw it to the ground, leaving his dark blue hair tousled. His golden eyes were afire. He walked onto the set and tapped her on the shoulder. "You were this close to _saving_ the scene!" He turned to Joren. "And what the hell do you think you're doing walking onto the set with that freaking James Bond attitude?"

Joren shrugged. "Hey, this script sucks. I ride in on that kick-ass bike-- sure. I like that. But this dialogue… Who the hell is the writer?"

Keladry reached for her belt and pulled out a script for the scene. "Um. Sulia Serafine." She gasped. "Oh no! Not _her_! No wonder this scene sucks! Do you _remember_ what she did to us in 'A Life Less Ordinary'? I see why you were trying to liven it up, Joren." She crinkled her nose. "Does she _ever_ write anything good? I mean, we had to _die_ last time, and argue with each other for months during the making of the stupid show!"

He nodded. "Yeah, I know."

With their complaints properly vented, the three were left standing awkwardly in silence. The director sighed, rolled his eyes, and went back to his special folding chair while rubbing his temples. There was a distant call for aspirin by one of his assistants. The two actors watched as the set's crew went about them, tending to fix the scene over again. The extras chatted while they waited for the cue to start over.

The blonde cleared his throat. "What do you want to do now? Obviously, our director is going to need a few minutes to get his blood pressure back down."

"I don't know." She scratched the back of her neck. "I heard what's his name is going to sabotage another scene today."

"Oh, you mean that redhead? I don't remember the guy either. He's so weird. Where'd they dig him up for the part?"

She shrugged. They walked over to his area of the set and sat down in a chair. Instantly, a woman working for him offered a platter of sliced fruit. He took a few grapes. Keladry yawned while she stood. Her eyes roamed over the items on the makeshift dresser. 

"Er…"

"What?" he asked with a little muffled sound. He held a green grape between his pearly white teeth. 

"You have more hair products than _I_ do."

(Episode 3: The First Mission; scene: the ferry across the Great Inland Sea)

She finished her lunch while reading up on the most dangerous areas of Carthak. Then she took his database with her when she went to change into some civilian clothes. Keladry hardly wore civilian clothes. Her whole life had been in uniform. This time, she inspected herself in the mirror with a disapproving look. The 1B officer wore a sleeveless blue shirt with a gray vest, then a pair of blue jeans and faded white sneakers. She fit her handgun into its holster under her thick vest, then slipped her collapsible energy glaive into her ankle brace. 

"I _look_ normal," she bit her lip. "So why does it feel so weird?" She rolled her eyes. " Oh, that's right. I'm _not_ normal. That's why."

Then she put on her gloves and her wristband again. With a satisfied mind, she left the bathroom. She returned back to the passenger area. She spotted Joren at the same booth before and went to join him. Keladry froze just when she reached the table and stared wide-eyed at her partner.

He was dressed in a large yellow and blue Hawaiian shirt, long black basketball shorts, and a pair of worn K Swiss sneakers. There was restrained fury in his expression. She looked worriedly to the director, who was banging his head on the wall while his assistants ran around frantically. The camera continued to roll.

"Uh… where are your black clothes?" she asked with a squeak, no longer feeling like she could save the scene.

Joren drummed his fingers on the table. "I don't know." His jaw twitched. The vein on his neck stood out like it was about to burst. He continued to speak through gritted teeth. "When I get my hands on the wardrobe crew…" He turned his gaze off the set toward the racks of clothes. 

Vinson, Alanna, and Cleon popped up from behind the racks, each holding some of Joren's black and red clothing. They burst into uncontrollable, sidesplitting laughter. Joren stood up immediately, moving toward them. Cleon grabbed his accomplices by the arms and dragged them behind him.

"Run! He's going to kill us!"

Alanna looked over her shoulder after they jumped a few boxes of props. There was a mad chase between them, Joren, and now the director and Keladry.

"Come back here _SO I CAN RIP YOUR FUCKING HEADS OFF!"_ Joren shouted in his loudest, most threatening voice.

"Oh crap! He's gaining on us!" Vinson cried. And then he tripped. "NO!"

"Vin!" Alanna called.

Cleon grabbed her arm. "It's too late! Leave him!"

"AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" they heard their companion's scream behind them and shook off their fears to continue to run around the set.

"Come back here!" Joren yelled. 

Alanna could no longer resist the urge. She twisted around while she ran and waved an article of his clothing up in the air. "Very interesting boxers, Stone! I didn't know you fancied targets so much!" She threw the boxers up in the air. Joren would have caught them if he weren't so focused on catching the perpetrators. Keladry and the director followed still. 

And then Keladry's vision went dark. She frowned. Something had landed on her head. She pulled them off and turned beet red. It was his boxers.

(Episode 4: Back To School; scene: Academy courtyard)

Joren looked around him. "I'm in hell, I'm in hell, I'm in hell…"

"Hey!" she chided him. "Don't do that. I happen to love this place. Years after graduation people still talk about the academy in reverence and fondness. I know I do."

"Yeah, well it was hell for me," he replied. 

"Would that be your problem with authority and all the instructors being around?" she asked casually.

"You could say that. Thank Heaven I passed the graduation tests without a problem and got out to Tusaine."

There was a sudden burst of laughter from a group of young men and women in the center of the courtyard. In the center, there were six benches set up in a circle around a pond. Trees shaded this favorite spot. Right then, cadets were laughing at someone's joke in the very center. A roasted chicken leg was flung up in the air. Another burst of laughter and there was a splash.

"This isn't happening," Joren said through gritted teeth. "Don't tell me that's--"

"Our rookie," Keladry finished. She grabbed Joren by the arm again and dragged him, unwillingly, forward to the group of cadets. As they saw the two officers approach, and being so young, they parted easily and let them through.

"What's all the commotion?" Keladry asked. She gasped when she saw.

A tall youth with sopping red hair was climbing out of the pond where he had fallen, most probably on purpose from the grins and winks he gave everyone. He laughed and was helped out by two male cadets that looked to be new at the academy. Then he shook his hair, which splattered drops of water onto everyone in the crowd.

"Hey! You guys must be those DJPF Officers who are training me out in the field! Sweet!" he whooped loudly. Then with the help of two students, he climbed atop the table, pointed to the two confused officers, and said "Behold! Those who dare to tame the wild Cleon Kennan, arch nemesis of all fried chicken!"

Joren leaned toward her and whispered. "On the count of three, we shoot him. Aim for the heart."

"Stone!" she scolded. He glared at her defiantly. Finally, she gave up and approached Cleon.

"And what may I do for the lady?" he asked with a wide grin. "Oh, wait! Let me clean up, and then I'll show you some of my talents in the shooting range. And then we can chat. I can tell you my academy experience and you can tell me about your record for training! Sound good?"

She stared at him. "You… you just killed half my lines, you dumb ass!"

"CUT!" the director yelled. "What is up with you people? Can't you do anything right?"

Keladry growled. "Do the stupid scene over. For crying out loud, Cleon, I'm _tired_ of your behavior screwing up all our scenes! Everyone is!"

He smiled sheepishly.

Joren fidgeted impatiently. "Can I shoot him now?" He pointed an accusing finger at the redhead. "Come on! No one would miss him!"

"Unfortunately, he's popular with the TP Fangirls," the director explained sadly. "We can't shoot him, though tempting it may be."

There were cries of frustration from half the set. 

"Hey!" Cleon objected.

"Oh, shut up, you," Joren hissed. "I'm out of here. Screw this."

"Wait! We need Joren! He's one of the main characters!" an assistant protested.

Joren stormed off, despite their pleadings for him to stay.

Keladry sat down in her chair and groaned. "I need some Advil™."

(Episode 5: Finding Thom; scene: hotel room)

TAKE 1:

The three DJPF officers gathered in Joren's hotel room to overlook their notes. He sorted through some papers on his teal covered bed while they looked on. "Okay, so far, we've talked to everyone in Corus. There is nothing mysterious around, nor is there anything that resembles anything associated with the missing person, Mr. Thom Trebond."

"There was that old lady at the antiques shop who claimed her son was Thom Trebond."

"Cleon…"

"Well, it's possible!"

"Get serious," Keladry said.

"Okay. So, we move on to Maren?" Cleon asked. He sat on down on the floor looking up at the two superior officers. "There's not much we can follow, you know? I mean, there are very few given facts about this man. One being--"

"He's an inventor. Technologically advanced areas are more likely to house him," Kel said while tapping her chin.

Joren pointed at another paper. "He hates extremely cold and extremely hot weather. We can go straight west without going north or south."

"And he's between the ages of 30 and 50 with violet hair and red eyes. Oh, this is just peachy," Cleon sighed with sarcasm. He paused. "Aww, crap. I screwed up the line, didn't I?"

"Red eyes would be kind of interesting," Keladry commented.

"At least he didn't screw up the scene on purpose this time," Joren muttered.

"Okay, okay," the director announced. "Joren starts with the weather line. We can change a camera angle so we don't have to go so far back."

TAKE 2:

Joren pointed at another paper. "He hates extremely cold and extremely hot weather. We can go straight west without going north or south."

"And he's between the ages of violet hair and red eyes--" Cleon froze. "Aww, man!"

Keladry sighed and shook her head.

An hour later, TAKE 34: 

Joren stiffly pointed at another paper while trying to beat down his obvious resentment. "He hates extremely cold and extremely hot weather. We can go straight west without going north or south."

"And he's between the ages of 30 and 50 with red hair and violet eyes. Oh, this is just peachy," Cleon sighed with sarcasm. He fought to hide a smirk. "You know what? I'm going to bed. This is giving me a headache. He could have dyed his hair-- or even worse! Gotten colored contacts. So, we can't depend on physical descriptions, can we? Oh, man, my backache!"

"Cleon!" Keladry whined.

The director slumped further down into his chair. "He… he was so close. Until that very last line…"

A sudden smile graced Joren's features. "I have an idea."

TAKE 35:

Joren pointed at another paper. "He hates extremely cold and extremely hot weather. We can go straight west without going north or south."

"And he's between the ages of 30 and 50 with red hair and violet eyes. Oh, this is just peachy," Cleon sighed with sarcasm. He fought to hide a smirk. "You know what? I'm going to bed. This is giving me a headache. He could have dyed his hair-- or even worse! Gotten colored contacts. So, we can't depend on physical descriptions, can we? Oh, man, my headache!"

"I've had a headache this whole trip," Keladry said, but got up off the bed. She glanced at the clock. "It's late. We'll get some good night sleep. Tomorrow, we'll cross River Olorun to Maren."

"CUT! We got it!" the director brightly beamed. He pumped a fist in the air twice, then settled back down joyously on his chair. "Let's take five, eh?" There were loud cheers from the whole crew. He got up and approached the Keladry and Joren while Cleon left to get a drink of water. "How in the world did you get him to say it right?"

Keladry chuckled. "Did you see a change in Joren's stage position?"

He blinked. "Er, he was standing next to you, like last time, right?"

She shook her head. "No, he was standing next to Cleon."

Joren offered no words. He just looked smug in his self-satisfaction.

"So, what did he do?"

"Why, point a gun at Cleon's back. "

(Episode 6: Sleeping On the Job; scene: classroom at the Academy)

"What are the chances that they'll be in the classrooms?" Keladry asked herself as she opened the door to the only unlocked room. She moved the desks together to form a hard, flat bed three feet off the ground. Then she lied down atop of it. It was tough adjusting to the stiffness, but she put most of herself on top of her large pillow.

Keladry smiled in contentment and closed her eyes. "Finally."

__

Drip. Drop.

She opened one eye and looked around. Then she closed it again.

__

Drip. Drop.

"Oh, this isn't funny…" she groaned.

__

Drip. Drop.

She got off her makeshift bed and looked around the room frantically for a pipe. There had to be a leak somewhere in the room. She turned on the light to the classroom briefly. Finding none, she turned off the light again. Then, she went back to the desks and tried to fall asleep again. Keladry closed her eyes tightly. "Please, please."

Silence.

__

Thud.

"OW!" Keladry cried out as she fell off the desks. She grumbled to herself as she stood up and brushed herself off. She gingerly touched her behind and winced. Her face flushed in embarrassment.

Off set, Owen and Neal started cracking up.

"Could someone get them out of here?" she yelled.

(Episode 7: Stop, Thief! scene: late at night or early morning, Rogue Bay)

Back in the garage, Cleon and Joren sat on the ground facing each other. They had temporarily forgotten their dislike for each other. With flecks of insanity in their eyes, they eagerly began to map out a plan to get their prized possessions back. Just as Cleon started to make of list of ways to torture the thieves, they heard a scream.

"That's Keladry!" Cleon gasped. The two men sprung to their feet and raced over to their partner's room. The door was wide open, and there she was, holding one of her duffel bags open, gasping.

She looked up when they came in and pointed angrily to the bag. For a few moments, she was speechless-- closing and opening her mouth with no sounds coming out. Finally, she shook her head and raised her hand.

"Do I really have to say this next line?"

The director's eye twitched. "Yes. It's in the script."

Joren and Cleon gave Keladry questioning looks. She straightened herself indignantly. "Well, what would you do if your lines were to scream out that some pervert stole your underwear?"

The rookie officer snapped his fingers. "Oh, so you're at a loss of motivation for the line! Easy, just focus your anger about the pervert toward someone."

She stared at him in a mixture of disbelief of his dumb suggestion and confusion on what he truly meant.

"I know! Let's pretend that Joren stole your underwear! And I bet he did--" here he began to gag because the blonde's hands were closed about his neck, strangling him until his face turned blue.

"I know, Kennan!" Joren said, mimicking Cleon's singsong voice. "How about we strike a deal? You stop with the smart ass remarks and practical jokes, I don't maim you."

There was a gurgle. He accepted it for a yes and let go. Air rushed into Cleon's lungs. He coughed, then began to speak. "You… you wouldn't really do that would you?"

Joren chuckled deep in his throat, making him seem demonic in the lighting the crew was resetting. He leaned toward the other actor and grinned. "Sleep with one eye open, dead boy."

Keladry and the director exchanged knowing looks.

(Episode 8: Now, What?; scene: hotel in Rogue Bay)

"I'm sincerely sorry for this."

Keladry opened her eyes. She gasped as she felt the barrel of her own gun pressed to the side of her head. Faleron stood holding the weapon with his hands, which were still cuffed. His expression was serious, and a little sad. "Would you please put the keys to the cuffs on the floor and kick them to Wilson?"

She looked over at the other three men. They sat quietly on the floor, waiting for her. She couldn't believe how careless she had been for allowing herself to sleep. And she didn't even have a good dream-- just a nightmare of memories. Keladry looked back to Faleron. "You won't shoot me. You're bluffing."

His sadness became more abundant in his eyes. He sighed and said in a small voice nothing like his usual, "Officer, did you ever hear the phrase…" he paused. "That oh-so-familiar phrase… with such… enlightenment…yeah, uh…"

There was a brief moment of quiet before Keladry started smiling. "Ah, that oh so familiar phrase. Yes, I know what you're talking about. Can you tell me what that phrase is, oh dear captor?"

The gun lowered an inch when his hand drooped. "Uh, yes. Yes, I can tell you what it is."

"Then what is it."

He gulped nervously. "Give me a second. Oh! It's desperation… um, desperation…. No, wait." The young thief turned to a handcuffed man sitting on the floor. "Er, Wilson? Do you know that phrase I'm talking about? And while you're at it, go ahead and save us some time. Get these cuffs off of me."

Out of the camera's vision range, a certain golden eyed young man with a megaphone and a folding chair marked director flipped through a script. His many assistants did the same.

As Wilson undid the cuffs, Keladry began observing the plaster ceiling above her head. Faleron coughed to call her attention. He began his attempt to remember the phrase again. "Darn it! I know this phrase!"

She grinned and nodded her head vigorously. "Yeah, you'd better know this phrase!"

"It's a phrase of great wisdom!"

"Oh, yeah!"

"And… and a fact of life!"

She sat back in her chair and put her feet up on the bed, ankle crossed over ankle. "You preach it, man!"

"And… oh, I give up! Trash the freaking scene!" he threw his hands up in the air. "This has never happened to me before! In all the roles I've ever played, I've been the best! After all, I'm Faleron King, aren't I? Charismatic and clever little thief of everyone's hearts?" He pounded his left fist into his right palm. "This is all Numair's fault! He had to insist that I go to the bar with him and the other guys last night… and now I can't even remember my own lines!"

Keladry got up from her seat and patted him comfortingly on the shoulder. "Hey, you now officially hold the record for longest attempt to save a scene. And it's a refreshing change compared to Cleon screwing up every take. I think he's learned his lesson though. Especially after Joren's threat."

"Oh, him. Yes, I've never met an actor quite like him before. Very… animated, among other things…"

"You're being too kind."

"Hey!" Cleon shouted from across the set. "That's not funny!"

Faleron and Keladry started to snicker.

The redhead folded his arms across his chest and said smugly, "And by the way, your phrase was 'desperate people will do desperate things'."

"Learn from personal experience, Kennan?" Faleron asked teasingly.

"Aww, shut up." He hesitated. "So what if I did?"

(Episode 9: Revealing the Truth; scene: hotel in Rogue Bay)

Faleron nodded and ate another spoonful of his sugarcoated cereal. Cleon sat beside him, downing a tall glass of milk while casting long glances at him. Faleron was doing much better that day. As Keladry observed before, it was a shallow wound and wouldn't even hinder him by next week or so. He was much friendlier with everyone since he'd been shot and since Joren informed everyone about his past. Still, he acted with that invincible confidence that Keladry coveted.

"What _is_ that stuff?" Cleon pointed to Faleron's cereal. 

"Marshmallows. Lucky Charms™ to be precise with some powdered sugar I added myself. They are very tasty. Care for any, Mr. Kennan?"

"Sure--" he started to reply. The director gave him the evil eye. Cleon pouted and shook his head. "Uh, no. I'm fine with what I have." He angrily stabbed at his eggs again. Another of his chances to ruin the scene foiled. "You know, for a guy who talks like a dignitary of Mithros, you have some weird food preferences for sugar."

"And some weird career choices," Keladry added.

At that very moment, the table with all their food on it broke in half. All the food fell onto the floor in a big messy pile. Dishes and glasses broke instantly, or made clattering noise as they hit the floor. The cast blankly stared at the two halves of the table.

"Er… weak props," Faleron commented. "Does this happen often?"

"Somebody clean this up!" the director yelled impatiently.

In the meantime, the cast decided to have fun with the camera while the cameraman was away. 

"Wow… is my butt really that big?" Cleon half grinned-half snickered as he showed his posterior to the camera. They hooked it up to a television and wheeled it around front so he could see. "Wow! My butt's huge! It's gigantic!"

Faleron, sitting at his dressing table a few feet away, burst into uncontrollable laughter. Cleon moved a little too far back and bumped the camera. All of them started cracking up.

"You're gonna break it! Cleon, move your butt! It's my turn!" Lalasa exclaimed.

He pointed at her. "Hey! You're not in here until the last part of the episode."

She smirked. "I know." She began doing a series of super model poses for the camera. She puckered her lips and maid a come-hither gesture with her hands to the camera. "I'm ready for my close up, Mr. DeVille…"

Joren rolled his eyes. "God help me, I'm stuck with a bunch of idiots." He glanced around to see if anyone was looking. Then he picked up the cereal box of Lucky Charms ™ and grinned.

(Episode 10: One Last Nutcase Arrives; scene: mayor's place in Copper)

The clouds passed over the moon. The trees cast long shadows over the dewy lawn as the two dark figures traipsed along a path through the woods surrounding the property. They stopped outside the black iron fence with pointed spire-like points at intervals. One of them reached into a black bag and pulled out a long metal clamp connected to a box in the bag. Then, this person clipped it onto one of the iron bars with a point on top. The other person took another metal clamp connected to the box and attached it to the next iron bar with a point. Then the first flipped a switch on the box.

If a person had looked out the window from the mansion facing the West, he or she would have seen a bright spark flash within a half-second. The dismantling of electrical sensors in the fence was complete. The first one took the clamps off, stuffed them back into the black bag, and slung it over their shoulder. Then the two climbed the fence in that spot, careful not to make one noise. 

A ripping noise sounded from the second person. Their pants had caught on a spire. A foot slipped--

"Gggaahhh!" Keladry cried out as her center of balance toppled over. She swung into an upside-down position, her back slamming against the rest of the fence. The only thing holding her up was the bottom of her pants caught on the spire. Joren let go of the fence and landed on the ground, in a crouching position. He stood up and faced her.

"I told him to give you a stunt double."

She moved her hood out of the way. Her face was red. "Just shut up and get me down!"

He regarded her for a few moments.

"What are you waiting for?" the director called out. "Get her down so we can do the scene over again!"

"Can't we just leave her here a bit longer? Torture is fun."

"All the blood is rushing to my head, jerk!"

He simply stood there.

The director cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, "Paycheck, Stone, paycheck!"

Joren rolled his eyes. "Oh, all right."

(Episode 11: I'm Not A Criminal! ; scene: resting station)

Keladry got up and walked to the edge of the sidewalk. There was some commotion going on behind her. She could hear the banging noises like someone was kicking glass and plastic. Cleon was shouting at a vending machine while Faleron leaned on it, munching on a large pretzel. Finally, he gave up. The redhead now started to punch the coin return button repetitiously.

"Hey, Officer," Faleron said after swallowing a bit of his food. He jerked a thumb toward his friend. "As you can see, Cleon just got into a fight with a pile of metal and plastic and lost.

"That's so not fair! I want my money back!"

Faleron generously held out his hand. "You can have a piece of my pretzel. It's very tasty."

"I don't want your stupid pretzel."

"Come now, I'll have you know that pretzels have an I. Q. of 1.00134--"

"Oh, shut up, Fal!"

Faleron grinned. He began eating his pretzel again. Cleon's face was nearly as red as his hair, from all the physical exertion of kicking the vending machine and the embarrassment the thief was giving him. Keladry narrowed her eyes at Faleron, who only grinned wider. 

"Stop teasing him," she reprimanded.

"I don't need you to stand up for me!" Cleon sat down on the ground with his legs crossed and folded. He tucked his hands near under his armpits and pouted. Faleron burst into a fit of laughter and took his hat from the redhead. He spun it around on one hand while stuffing the last of his food in his mouth. "Aww, look at this! Hat hair?"

"Yeah, hats are capable of doing that to you."

"It's just your stupid hat, not me."

Faleron's eye twitched. "Oh, so my hat's not good enough for you, pal? Is that it?"

Keladry blanched. She thought to herself, "Oh, no. He's following in Cleon's footsteps. There goes the scene…"

The other did nothing to help. In fact, Cleon went a little too far. He shoved his fellow man by the shoulders roughly, causing Faleron to stumble back a couple of steps.

"You heard me, Thief. Your hat _sucks_."

"This can't be good," she thought to herself.

Faleron shoved back. "I dare you to say that one more time."

The taller one smirked and leaned forward so that their noses almost touched. He folded his arms across his chest, glaring defiantly at Faleron with a twinkle in his eye. "Your hat can kiss… my…"

An hour later, the director returned from his emergency meeting with the producers. There had been limited time for filming, so he insisted that the crew carry on without him. After all, his assistant directors were competent enough. They all were filled to the brink with qualifications for the jobs. Why couldn't he leave them in charge? Although, it was against protocol, he left. And things couldn't be any different, could they?

The set was wrecked. 

He dropped his bag of glazed donuts to the floor as a timid man with a headset cowered in front of him, rambling incoherently as he tried to explain the course of events that took place in the director's absence. His words only penetrated skin deep. The dark blue-haired young man could only stare in disbelief at the mess before him.

In the background, the sound of feet dragging through trash reached his ears. He turned around. Two cameramen and a costume lady trembled. They anticipated the worst.

"_What the hell happened?_" he bellowed.

The timid man twiddled his thumbs. "After Mr. Kennan and Mr. King knocked over the set walls, it created a domino effect with the equipment all around the studio."

"Domino effect?"

"Of course, that was before the catering people accidentally got in the way. Remember? There was to be a celebration in the so far success in the series? Well, the cake flew up in the air from the impact of the prop boy's fall. I'm sure Mr. Kennan didn't mean to barrel into him and send him straight at the caterer." 

"Cake?"

His nasal voice rose a pitch. "Wait, wait, I think that was after Mr. Stone had arrived from his trailer and got hit in the chest with one of the breakfast props. He became quite angry." There was a thoughtful pause. "I was sure that his weapon props were not allowed to be loaded. I guess I was wrong."

The director's head bowed his chin on his chest. He emitted a small nearly inaudible sniffling sound. 

"Why me?"

(Episode 12: How To Make Money When You're On The Run; scene: hotel in Tyra)

"Typical," she chuckled inwardly and walked to the bathroom door. She knocked on it softly, since she could no longer hear running water of the shower. "Hey, Cleon! Please tell me you're done. I'd like some hot water."

She got no response. Of course, just to annoy her some more… Keladry decided to trudge back to her room when the bathroom door opened. Joren stepped out, a white towel wrapped around his narrow hips. His hair and body were still glistening with water from the shower. It turned out that he was pretty lean. His muscles were taut, as if just waiting for the opportunity to be used in action. She gulped and turned her back to him.

"Uh, sorry. I thought you were Kennan."

He raised one eyebrow suspiciously. "Right. Sure. Could you hand me my pants?"

She obligingly picked them up and tried to keep her eyes looking at anything but him. The flushed officer held her arm straight out. Joren took the article of clothing from her, noticing her discomfort.

"Where is everybody?" he asked, stalling for time. She was squirming in anxiety. And he was amused by it. 

"Out," she squeaked. If only she could crawl into a hole and die…

He nodded. As he shifted around to shuffle back into the bathroom, a long wire with a tiny hook at the end extended from offstage and snagged the corner of his towel. It slipped down his hips.

"Oh shit!" he cursed, grabbing the towel edges as fast as possible and hauling them higher up over his nether regions. The hook continued to tug at the towel. It was determined to rid Joren of it. Keladry gasped and turned bright red. She put her hands over her mouth to stifle her laughter and scurried a few feet off while Joren began a vicious tug of war with the hook and wire while wearing nothing more than a pair of gray boxer briefs and half of the towel.

"What the fuck!" Joren yelled. "Who the hell is that?! Security! Get the hell over here before I--"

Offset, the director leapt up from his chair. "Do something, you idiots!"

The set crew was sent into a flurry of motion. The cameramen shamelessly caught the whole incident on camera. Keladry tried hard not to look anywhere but up at the studio ceiling. The female set crew gawked at Joren. And the rest of the cast stood by, trying not to laugh. If they did, they were sure to be injured by a furious costar later.

The towel ripped straight down the middle. The half-naked blonde stumbled back a bit. He held a torn half of the white towel in his hands, a perplexed expression adorning on his face. The confusion quickly turned to malice. He stalked forward into the shadows behind the set wall and yanked a young teenage girl into the spotlight.

Silence.

"You! You're that… that stalker fangirl from Fanfiction.net!" Joren seethed. 

"They call me Jaelawyn Noble," she smiled deviously. "Now, Joren, hon, we need to get you a bad ass tatoo. How do you feel about getting a piercing? I mean, at least one or two. Maybe other places as well…" Her eyes lowered dangerously to other areas, scanning his hard torso and muscled thighs. She made a dim sound of appreciation.

"You perverted little--"

The director threw down his megaphone and stomped over to where they were. "And who gave you permission to come here? Huh?" He looked around quickly and then stared back at her. "Because I sure as hell don't know who!"

Jaelawyn played idly with the long wire and hook still in her possession. "Sulia said I could drop by if I wanted. She owed me."

Joren, still clad in boxer briefs and wet from his 'shower', began to crack his knuckles. "And I owe _you_ something…"

"Sulia also said that if anything happened to me, she was going to ban a certain dark blue haired, golden eyed person from getting their precious hot dogs.

"The director held up his hands. "Stop."

"Why?" the actor asked dubiously.

The director gulped. "Just… just stop." He sucked in a nervous breath of air. "She threatened the hot dogs. We must stop."

Silence prevailed again.

Jaelawyn patted the director on the head, started whistling, and sat down in his chair. Joren punched the wall, which immediately became a small crater. Now the group of female observers had grown, whispering among themselves and giggling. Cleon, Faleron, and Roald were writing down reminders to themselves to buy boxer briefs. And Keladry stood at the edge of the set, trying not to notice Joren's choice of clothing, or lack thereof.

The intruding visitor beckoned for Keladry to talk with her. She nudged the taller girl. "Well, we've answered the question: boxers or briefs. Now to answer… Hanes? Fruit of the Loom? The Walmart brand?"

"Walmart has a brand?" Cleon called from the background.

Keladry shook her head. "No, no, no. Er… definite no. Don't look at me like that!"

"Okay, okay!" she held her hands up. "Well then… what about size…?"

Joren madly went through his offstage clothing, intent on finding his gun. 

(Episode 13: Kidnapped!; scene: hotel in Tyra)

Somewhere past midnight, Keladry woke up. She turned onto her side and noticed that Lalasa was sitting upright in her bed with the covers pulled tightly around her like a cloak. She rubbed her eyes and yawned. "Lalasa, what's wrong? Did you have a bad dream?"

Faleron blinked. He twisted around and faced her in the darkness. "It's me, Kel. Lalasa isn't here."

She was now completely awake. Keladry squinted. The street lamps outside her window hardly provided enough light to see anything with. "Oh, I'm sorry. I thought you were…"

"I know," he nodded. He gestured to the wall in between their room and the other room. "I woke up because I couldn't hear Roald anymore. I think he finally fell asleep. Poor guy. He's really sweet on her."

Keladry sat up and leaned against the headboard. "Yeah. They've gotten close."

He suddenly turned to her and swung his legs over the edge of his bed. "Have you ever had a boyfriend?"

"Oh yeah," she said, not missing a beat. "There was Alfred, then Michael, then this guy named Robert, or was it Ross? Oh, doesn't matter. They all had an affinity for Motel 6's anyway."

Faleron tried to keep a straight face. Though his poker face was exceptional, he eventually gave out. He fell backwards on his bed, laughing his head off. His fist pounded on the mattress- so consumed by humor was he. Keladry tapped her chin in soundless contemplation. She gasped.

"Wait, wait! That was just Tortal! Wait until I tell you about my weekend trips to _Carthak_."

He started snort-laughing while burying his head in the pillows. 

Offstage, the director gazed blankly at her. He commented to one of his many assistants, "They've finally cracked her, too, haven't they?" His lip quivered. "That's it! We're doomed!"

In the background, Joren screamed bloody murder. "SHE'S BACK AGAIN! WHERE THE HELL IS MY GUN?!"

(Episode 14: Race For Your Lives; scene: bike dealership in Galla)

"Get on."

She blinked. "What?"

"I said 'get on'. Are you deaf?" he gave her a once over. "You said you wanted to go for a ride, right? So, let's go. The Black Knight wasn't really meant to seat two, but you'll be fine." He pointed over her shoulder. "The back door to the dealership is always unlocked. Go in and borrow a spare helmet."

She eyed him distrustfully. She couldn't believe this was happening. "You're not going to leave while I'm getting it, are you?"

"I'm offended," he said, imitating Faleron. It was unreal the way Joren was acting. He seemed almost happy. Keladry did as she was instructed. Within a few seconds, she came back with a red helmet. He nodded approvingly and gestured for her to get on the bike. Cautiously, she lifted one leg and swung it over the seat. He turned to look at her.

"Put on your helmet. You're the one always being a safety freak," he said while putting on his own helmet. Keladry remembered back when she rode her own motorcycle during the first mission. Once again, she had to get used to the helmet. When he saw she was ready, he continued. "Hold on to my waist… unless you _want_ to fall off."

She would have glared at him, but he probably wouldn't have seen it through the helmet. Keladry hesitantly encircled his waist with her arms. She thought to herself about the situation. And she realized that she had never seen anyone ride with Joren on his bike. Did that mean she was the first? It wasn't a big deal, but at that moment, it felt good. She smiled.

"Uh, Mindelan."

"Huh?" she snapped out of her reverie.

"You can let go now. It's time to switch scenes."

She blinked. "Oops. Sorry!"

Three voices started to tune up offstage. Cleon, Faleron, and Neal surprisingly began to sing.

"Joren and Keladry sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G…"

Joren's eye twitched.

"First comes love…"

The sound of a gun being cocked.

"Then comes marriage…"

He aimed at the middle man, his finger tightening on the trigger.

"The comes Joren in a baby ca--"

The shot went right between Cleon's legs. All three men looked down to where the bullet was buried in the concrete floor. Their faces became pasty white. Joren got off the bike, blowing the whiff of smoke from the barrel of his handgun. Keladry yawned and stretched.

"You should know better by now not to make him testy," she said.

"Two inches up, and do you know where that shot would have gone, Kennan?"

The redhead coughed. "Something tells me I don't want to know…"

(Episode 15: Cleon, My Hero; scene: Scanra)

Keladry glanced briefly out the window at Joren on his bike, completely enveloped in his own thoughts. She wondered fleetingly if he even cared about what happened-- if he even acknowledged the ephemeral passage in time when he was human. Flesh and blood. And tears.

__

"It was all a mistake. I was kind of shook up… My head was messed up. I did something I shouldn't have. Sorry if I led you on or anything…"

"JOREN, YOU ASSHOLE!"

Everyone turned to stare at her. 

She gulped. "Did I say that out loud?"

"CUT!"

Lalasa rolled her eyes. "Let me guess. You couldn't remember your next action, so you just improvised."

"Er… a little…"

(Episode 16: The Lioness Returns; scene: car chase with Alanna, Joren, and Kel in Tyra)

"We've got to lose her!" she screamed above the loud engine, her hair whipping around her face.

He nodded and motioned again to the compartment. This time, she had to reach farther to feel anything in the tiny enclosure. Then, she felt a round metal sphere in her palm. She withdrew her hand and looked at it. 

"Just throw it!" he yelled. With one hand around his waist, she twisted around and flung it at the windshield of Alanna's squad car. It bounced off the car and hit the paved street.

"CUT! RESHOOT!" the directory bellowed.

Joren brought the bike to a stop, putting his feet on the ground. "Oh, don't tell me the stupid thing was a dud!"

Keladry sighed. "We have to go all the way back and shoot from there?"

"It _was_ a continuous shot from when we got separated from the rest of them," her costar pointed out.

She growled. "I wish we could just get this over with!" A pause. "Not that I don't want to be here stuck with you, no, not at all. Really, you can be good company when you're not being a jerk."

He frowned. They headed back to the starting point. "By the way, you can be non-annoying as well. When you're not acting like a typical female."

"Thanks for the compliment," she replied sarcastically. "I knew men were worse at compliments, but you…"

(Episode 17: Home, Sweet Home; scene: breaking into the Presidential mansion)

They opened the door and Cleon, forgetting their need to be stealthy, ran in with Faleron trailing behind. A girl, or rather young woman, with dark wavy hair cut to her neck was standing beside her bed. She was clad in only an orange leotard with black spots and her pantyhose rolled up halfway. She shrieked and slapped Cleon, but missed Faleron.

"I'm so sorry! I thought this room was--"

*slap*

"Ow!"

*slap*

"_Ow_! Stop that!"

"Help! Someone!" the young woman screamed. "PERVERTS!"

*slap*

"We're so sorry! I swear, I didn't see anything!" Cleon pleaded with the young woman to stop her panicked noise. Faleron ran past both of them to the next door. He frantically began to pick the lock while more slaps could be heard in the background. The girl was clinging to a pillow to cover herself, though by Cleon's opinion, she was not nude. Still, she continued to scream hysterically.

"Let's go!" 

*slap*

"Aww, come on! Give me a break, lady!"

"HELP!"

"CUT!" he yelled. The director frowned.

"What? Why'd you stop? That was perfect!"

The infuriated redhead stormed up to his superior and glared at him. "Why does _my_ character take all the hits?"

"Because he's the main comedic relief."

Cleon took a deep breath. He looked naturally hurt. "Did it ever," he paused to sniffle. "Occur to you people that I might want a decent part. I mean, look at Keladry and Joren. They get some of the most developed monologues and one liners that you could ever see. The characters are so… serious and focused! My character? He doesn't know anything!"

Everyone stared at him.

"Is it wrong to want to be like the Professor from Gilligan's Island? Can't I get a part with some brains in it like that?"

Faleron raised his hand. "I thought that was my part."

"Than what am I?" Cleon sobbed.

"Gilligan, I guess."

"But… But.."

"Sorry, chap. Now," his companion turned to the random girl. "Please continue to slap him. Then we'll be on our way."

"Oh, what a world!" Cleon cried.

(Episode 18: The Enemy of My Enemy; scene: presidential mansion, hostage room-- ballroom)

Vinson sighed. "I find that I can't deny you, love." He signaled to his men. "All right. Let them go. Fetch that wretched statue out in the main hall and bring it here. We can lop off its head and have a game of bowling, eh?"

The other men laughed automatically, even if the sentence was not humorous. Lalasa let out a relieved breath. Behind the glass, Jonathan decided there was nothing more he could do there. The best hope he possessed was to use the secret passages between the walls to get to the laboratory underneath the estate and protect the Immortals from Ozorne.

"May I have a kiss, my love?" Vinson leered at her. She paled.

"Uh… not on the first date, no way," she shook her head while forcing herself to giggle like a hysterical idiot.

He raised one eyebrow. "I'll have to kill a guard out of boredom…"

Lalasa could have cried. She hesitantly offered her cheek to him. He wrapped one arm around her waist. Instead of pecking her on the cheek, he forced his lips against hers. 

A few moments passed.

The director cleared his throat. "Lalasa, you're supposed to be disgusted." He waited a few seconds. "Lalasa?"

One of his assistants tapped his shoulder. "I don't believe they've come up for air yet."

"You're supposed to hate this!"

The Carthakian woman finally broke away, breathing hard. Vinson, satisfied with himself, stood back and whistled while she approached the director.

"What on earth was that? You were supposed to hold him in contempt!"

She grimaced. "But he kisses SO much better than that Roald guy you hired…"

(Episode 19: The Fall Of A Villain; scene: water room in presidential estate)

Faleron limped sluggishly toward the door again. His ankle still hurt, but he'd have to ignore it if he wanted to live. The water was coming down so fast; it already reached halfway up his calf. Roald was crying out random phrases of bewilderment, turning around and around in the middle. At the same time, he searched with his eyes to find the source for the water of each hole. He saw nothing past the most common liquid of nature.

"Kennan. Do something," Faleron shouted as if his friend truly had the power to make the scene go away.

"I'm trying!" the sharpshooter snapped back, not liking the pressure he was given.

"Guys!" Roald shouted with a squeak at the end of the word. The vice president's son shook his head. He cleared his throat and called again. The incessant sound of water rushing around him and splashing him as it poured down made it hard for him to be heard by them. 

Cleon now put his feet on each side of the lever. He crouched down, grabbed hold and braced himself for pulling. He gritted his teeth. "I can't get it to move!"

"Guys!" Roald yelled again. Faleron turned around to face him. There was a rare expression of anxiety present on the usually calm and collected face.

"We're working on it. Don't get hysterical!" In truth, he was telling himself not to become hysterical.

More cursing came from the dryer side of the door. "It's still not moving!"

Faleron started to shiver as the cold water level advanced to his waist. He grabbed onto the iron bars and yanked on them in desperation. He examined every little bit of the door's tiny window. His mind analyzed the situation within a split second. And it came to him. The room was only seven feet wide. The hole was not that far from the door. "Roald! Get over here!"

The water stopped.

"What the… hey! Is something wrong with the waterworks?" the director called form the semi-dry nook in the wall made especially for the filming crew.

Faleron and Roald stood waist deep in the still water, waiting patiently for the flooding to resume. Three bubbles suddenly floated to the surface and popped. They made a strange sound.

"Eww… My good fellow, did you just f--"

"Now! That was you! Yuck!"

"No, it wasn't…"

"Yes it was…"

A worse smell drifted over from the door. They both wrinkled their noses.

"CLEON!"

Episode 20: Miserable Victory or Sweet Defeat?; scene: underground lab)

Keladry peered at her questioningly. "Is something wrong? Does it have to do with that jerk?"

Alanna sighed. She folded her arms, staring down at the scuff on her boot. "It does," she admitted. "Your partner…"

The young woman before her rolled her eyes, letting her mask of emotions fall as she had let it do all day. "I can just guess. It was a big, manly, testosterone-filled battle and he was showing off. I see that would account for Ozorne and Vinson." She reluctantly stopped smirking. "Right?"

"You're close," Alanna said. She met her eyes with an apology already in them. "Ozorne was dead when Thom and I got here. Then it was just Jon, Thom, and I. Roger and Stone came down the stairs. I supposed Stone meant to fake an alliance with Roger for the time being. Vinson came down, trying to kill Jon. Stone shot Vinson. And then…" She trailed off faintly.

"And then what?" Keladry stared with unblinking eyes.

"Roger shot _him_." 

A few seconds of silence seemed like hours to the retired DJPF AA officer. She never had to confront people before and tell them that a certain person was dead. She'd seen it though. Sometimes, officers she'd worked with had been forced to knock on the doors of civilians to tell them that their loved one had been killed. 

Whether or not Joren Stone was considered a 'loved one' did not particularly matter. It was the fact that he was a person that they knew. That Keladry knew. That Faleron and Cleon and Roald knew. That Lalasa and Thom knew. He could have been standing right next to them at that very moment. But he wasn't.

Keladry jumped for joy. "YES!"

Alanna blinked. "Eh?"

"CUT! Mindelan, what is wrong with you? You're supposed to be sad!"

The young woman in question calmed down. She puts her hands on her hips. "You mean to tell me after all the things my character has gone through because of her partner that she's _sad_ at his death? I mean, she doesn't even get back at him before the season ends! I mean, he kisses her, breaks her heart a little, and she has to keep it to herself. She can't put up with the fact that she's shut out her spare time… Why would she be so weak?"

"Because Ms. Serafine is giving her the time of her life in season 2," the director grated.

Keladry blinked. "Oh. Uh, okay. Sorry. I'll start again."

Offstage, Joren glared at her.

(Episode 21: And You Call This Justice?; scene: DJPF Headquarters Garage)

He kissed her. 

With his face tilted to the right, he gently leaned in and softly brushed his lips to hers. If Keladry had ever gone on a first date, she imagined this was what the kiss was properly supposed to be like. Sweet, unimposing, and short. It was nothing like the passion he'd shown her that fateful day in Galla when he poured out his heart to her in his attempt to grasp something alive and human within himself. 

There was no passion, no feeling in here.

She pulled away, swallowing nervously. Her eyes darted all around, hoping for anyone at all to walk in. She turned her head and looked into the elevator. It was empty. She cursed silently. Joren removed one hand from his pocket and cupped a side of her face. His hands were warm for once. She reveled in the feeling because it paralleled the sensation of his kiss.

"I'm only going to say this once, so you'd better appreciate it and not tell anyone else," he said to her calmly.

"Yeah?"

He paused. Then he leaned forward again so that their mouths were an inch apart. With all the quietness he could muster, he whispered to her, "Thank you."

He kissed her again. And this time, he blew her mind away. 

The texture of his lips was so unbelievable. He didn't press in as urgently and desperately as he had when tears had dripped from his cheeks. The urgency was replaced with a patient passion that welled up from within. The hand cupping her face moved to caress her shoulders and slide its way to her back. The other hand found its way out of his pocket and encircled her waist possessively, pulling her closer to him than before with her back still against the elevator shaft.

They caught a brief breath of air, then their lips met again and again and again. He spared her nothing. 

Keladry couldn't bring herself to believe everything that was happening. Joren Stone was kissing her on his own free will, with no emotional baggage to make him impulsively do it. He was making her tingle all over. Her head was dizzy, like champagne bubbles were popping in her head. She was drunk on the feeling. 

His embrace tightened. Having had no idea what to do, her hands had rested on his chest. No, they moved to encircle his neck, then tangle in his hair. She still had no idea what was wrong with him, but for once, she was just going to relax and enjoy it. With all her luck, she'd never get kissed ever again. So why not savor the moment, though false it may be?

His lips kissed a trail along her jawbone, then down her neck. By Glory, she wondered what he was doing. He unwound the scarf from around her neck and kissed the soft skin there. His hands traced patterns on her lower back. She shivered when his fingertips ran up and down her spine.

"Joren," she breathed. He silenced her again with another mind scrambling kiss. His tongue started to outline her lips. She briefly thought of movies and books where the men had used tongued the women. Keladry had always thought it vulgar and unrealistic. Most couples she knew existed just barely parted their lips let alone swap their spit. Not that she'd watched, but still. She could tell. Joren didn't do that. He mere outlined her soft pink lips and withdrew again to wet his.

It went on for so long. It had to be a dream. Nothing like this could ever happen to her. She was First Class Officer Keladry Mindelan. She didn't even have time for her family, let alone a love life. So how did she end up here? Why was she here? Couldn't she be in her dorm room, watching the latest in Tortall news? 

Minutes passed.

Someone coughed in the background.

Cleon and Faleron joined the director, watching the filming scene. The redhead leaned towards the weary director and whispered, "How long has this scene been going on?"

The director looked at his watch. "Twenty minutes."

Cleon rolled his eyes. He turned to the set. Then he cupped his hands around his mouth. "GET A ROOM!"

At once, everyone started cracking up. Faleron pounded Cleon on the shoulder for interrupting the filming. The director actually smiled, his tension lifted somewhat. Their faces both slightly flushed, Joren and Keladry separated. And then something else unbelievable happened. Joren scooped Keladry up in his arms.

"You know, that sounds like a good idea. See you in the morning!" 

"What the-- hey, put me down!"

"You really want me to put you down?" he asked.

Faleron snickered. "Look at her! She doesn't…"

"Oh shut up, you!" she yelled back. 

The director shook his head. "We still have to finish the scene people…"

"_Then _you can go check out Motel 6," Cleon winked.

"Damn you, Kennan," Keladry growled.

~~

The director, carrying the last episode to the producer and writer, was dead on his feet. His normal long white coat seemed heavier than ever, not to mention his usual boots. Sometimes, being an anime character sucked. The wardrobe was always extremely elaborate. Something in the back of his mind told him that he wouldn't be so tired if he had not taken the directing job, but _she_ had asked. He always said yes to whatever _she_ asked.

He knocked on the door.

"Come in."

He twisted the doorknob and entered. "Hello, Sulia."

"Oh, hey, Legato. Are you done?"

The tall golden eyed man nodded morosely and sat down on her sofa. She continued to sit and type at her computer. Sulia glanced at him out of the corner of her eye.

"Was it really that bad?"

"With actors like those, and luck like mine? I think that's a big HELL YEAH," he grumbled.

"Aww, poor Lego. Well, now that you're done, you can go back to your Japanese Anime, you handsome villain you."

He nodded. "Here's the last episode." He handed it to her, then laid down on his side on the sofa, pulling his knees in toward his chest. "Now, blessed sleep."

She smiled. "Sacred rest for all of us, hmm?"

Legato couldn't answer her. He was already out like a light.

~~

Author: I didn't think bloopers would take me so long. Ah, well. I'm finally going on vacation! I'm going to rectify my forgotten website and fix it up with a whole new Tortall section. And I'm going to post all the fanart I've made for it. Then I'm going to finish ALL the fanfics I've abandoned because of this one. (I guess that makes my vacation from ICBW about three weeks. Or more.)

I appreciate everyone's reviews. Really, there's nothing better for me than that. I'm sorry about all the tiny glitches. When I put this up on my site, every single spelling or grammar, or even story error will be fixed. I'm a perfectionist, after all. 

When I finally post the first episode, it's going to read ICBW Season 2 by Sulia Serafine and archived as a whole new fic. We'll be starting reviews from zero. Wow. When was the last time that I did _that_? Start a new fic, that is. 

I don't know what else to say. Legato-- my muse, director, and koibito-- and I want to wish everyone the best. And… I hope we'll see you soon. Take care.

Credits:

All © copyrighted objects and products that have been mentioned here do not belong to me. Original plot lines and ideas belong to Sulia Serafine. Hanes and Fruit of the Loom belong to their respectful people. K Swiss, Lucky Charms, etc. also belong to their respectful people.

Jaelawyn Noble belongs to herself. (And Legato and I thank you for making your cameo in the bloopers. We couldn't imagine anyone else doing… doing what you did. Heheh.) 

Remember. It isn't over.

__

A conclusion is simply the place where someone got tired of thinking. -Anonymous.

   [1]: mailto:silverwLng@aol.com



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